confession.

this isn't convenient.
that i know.

but...
there is beauty here.

i cannot turn away.

odun mi

dreams for the new year...

iba oshun laketi

the healing has begun.

it stings like a paper cut dipped in salted lemon water, but the wound is cleansed.

i look forward to seeing my butterfly-scar.


{thanks to phoenix for reminding me that scars can be beautiful...}

the island {part 1}

{a piece of a work in progress}

The kitchen wasn't clean enough. True, Martine had forgotten to dust the shelves, but she never thought Joseph would notice—when had he ever needed to go up there for anything?

He'd left after dinner, probably to play dominoes with friends. Shaking, she forced herself to stand up and begin the routine of slowly running her hands over her face, assessing the damage.

She started with her forehead—sore, but dry. Her fingers traced her right eye. Ok, but she winced as she touched her left. Another black eye. And her bottom lip was starting to swell. She ran a fingertip across it and ran into a nasty clot forming on the right side. Looking back at the corner she'd fallen into, she noticed red splotches on the tile. Must have been his ring.

She thought about crying, went numb instead. What would be the point? Still, she'd need to wash her face before dealing with the mess Joe had made...

totemic

i.
i cannot be contained.
my body twists, turns,
snuggles into hidden spaces,
coiled upon itself for warmth
and safety.

my natural state is silence.

if you hear me,
run.

ii.
i cannot be subdued.
instead, i hide in plain sight.

my battles are wisely chosen,
but wisdom
is not weakness.

my voice is a terrible warning. 
my true weapons:
claws,
strength,
teeth,
agility,
determination.

iii.
i see you.

i smell you.

i know you:
your soft spots,
your armor.

i know
where to strike.

and i rarely miss.

glass

handle my
fragile
see thru
soul
with care

commute

as i drove
the sun kissed my left cheek

smiled sadly.

thought about our ruins
the baby that didn't stay...

freedom.

the reasons why the season means so much
and so little.

cried.
moved on.
pushed through.

again.

distracted

still
struggling
to hear myself
over all the noise...

haiku

finally, something
to thank you for: you forged my
steel. made me stronger.

lapsed lutheran

i dreamt of taking communion...something i haven't done for over 20 years.

the thumbed cross on my forehead;
chalky wafer steeped in dry wine that stings my nose.

a moment of peace, solidarity, reflection.

i walked out of the sanctuary with a communion wafer filled baggie.

they were all pre-wined and, somehow, puffed up. like cheese curls. 

i munched happily on them as i walked...it all seemed perfectly normal...