Dear Sister, Part IV

Dear Sister,

She teaches me the meaning of poise
the open face and silent eyes
the smile, the purse, the reticent lips

She invites the silence in for tea
encourages me to fill the space between.

We leave out unnecessary ums and uhs
in favor of softer thoughts. She pulls them
like thread through a loom, and weaves her response

into the fabric of the moment.

I find myself blessing her delicate hand
in lieu of cursing this clumsy klutz
the goodness tangible in my patchwork prose

as it drapes around my shoulders.

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Dear Sister, Part II

Dear Sister,

She pulls us along,
the butterfly leading the caterpillars
we inch in our fuzzy toes
we shuffle in her shade.

As she fans the flames
as she showers us in light
as she soars above and looks ahead

she is not leaving
she is waiting for us to join her.

Dear Sister, Part 1

Dear Sister,

She reaches into a bag
each day
a bag ornate with the swirling blooms of love
and the patches of cashmere entwined
with silver spools.

She reaches into a bag
each day
a bag that holds the scaly remnants of snakes
and the grounds of bitter coffee
with dirty band-aids.

She reaches into a bag
each day
a bag that smells like gardenia and peach
and the scent of sated
with earthy life undertones.

She reaches into a bag
each day
and smiles.

Show Don’t Speak

my laughter shows you
the me buried under the storm
of my becoming

my sleepiness on your couch
sings the song of my comfort
with you

my hands in my lap
touch my neck when I think of
touching you

my respect looks like
the drive home I take
each night.

Knowledge

I don’t have to answer to you.

The snarling of your lip
and the scratching of your claws
are free to fester, dig and holler.

I’ve got something better than your want
that negates your bloodthirsty glut

I’d offer it to you if I knew
it would do any good

but you’re not in the place,
never wearing anything but that true face

and I’m not a coward if I turn the other way.

Shareable Sister

Altars are not unique
no invention of mine to exalt or extinct.

The world celebrates this day in an infinite amount of
necessary or neglect

and yet

you and I, shareable sister,
celebrate the same in our fate.

Indistinguishable at times, other than
the larger than life one’s mate.

We cannot even unique our way in our call,
as the syllables uttered to our face
are the same.

Inevitable, we share our hearts
we share our length and breadth of bearing
our undivided and insatiable parts
our outlooks and unlimited caring.

In darkness we both hold out our arms
in light our laughter runs unchecked
our hearts beat madly at the blink of his eyes

Our yin and yang pulling together to make
his world.

Scatter us to the sides of the universe
and he would stretch his limbs to the point of breaking
his torture voluntary

He would overextend his reach for me
if it meant he could hold onto you

His endeavor admirable but unnecessary
because the universe of our axes

moves.

The Ballad of a Ballsy Broad

– for Rita

She loomed upon the darkened corner of dank
the office I inhabited was flooded
with lilac perfume and waves of spray
for the coif perched high on her head.

This menacing woman glided into my office
her eyes were bright and hard
her mouth was stretched into a smile
but my heart was immediately charred

Her voice was deceptively sweet,
though it betrayed her snobbiness soon
She looked down her nose at me
And yet my respect for her grew.

As the weeks passed, I found out her bluntness
didn’t mask any hatred for me
I found out her unabashed bluntness
Was actually honoring me.

She plucked out my strengths from my weakness
and held them before me on a platter
The platter she created from wisdom
And she thrust it at people who matter.

This hard-ass lady from my hometown
Somehow though I’ve moved across country
Still coiffed and cultivated as ever
Is the source of my greatest story.

Pink Toenails

They are too clean,
too perfect,
each nail crafted with lipstick pink
the painted white petals of a daisy crowning
both of your larger toes
beckoning the eye to their design.

I am bent on my knees, staring down at them,
my washbin still with warmth and lavender oil
and I chance a look at your eyes.

Deep folded eyelids, erupting with past flight
past truths
and I am moved to touch the soles of your feet
bent further to the floor.

I am overturned inside
breaking form within myself
working through the potion we drank
and allowing the floor to weave in and out
of focus.

You sit patiently, your hands untwitching
your breath unhitching
your steady mind sinking softly into the water beside me

I tread my fingers through the washbin
to test the water before I begin.

A moment of darshan
and I know I am seen.