Poet & Teacher

Togethering again
the chaos
of days unglued,
months spun by,
compiled newspapers
piling high
with things that happened
and receipted things I did
or spent
or spent time with.

Exhaustion comes
when it has been a while
since sleep, up fighting the long losing
battle mind mine of mine
sleeplessness fixing all that is tense,
for a world insisting on rarely
making any sense.

But tonight when you are not
here, I am less
tired, and though
this is true,
I would give up all
of my order
to spend time
with you.

Clear spaces and blue skies
ain’t no place for a city girl’s mind
so tonight I’m just a dot on the skyline
flying back to where we might lie
and feel closely less alone again.

There’s little to trust in going slow
I need reminders—go, go, go
dodge this, fix that, me first, you last
unanswered open ended questions too vast
without alleys and cats
cries of echoes incomplete out here
too much space,
not enough near.

So what if I want a someone who knows
I need it back,
that I’m not crazy
expecting things to happen fast?

I’m just from where sunup starts
the night before
where sleep is like a conference call
all this doing and little being heard

I’m very near deaf already
so you’re gonna have to scream
if you want me,
I’m ready.

I’ve called to tell you one thing,
but can’t and say another,
hoping you will
make the invisible
jump to conclusions
I need, I know
this doesn’t help.

There’s also nothing you can say
except everything
I can’t hear.

The plane prepares to take off
(but this is irrelevant).
There is the space between
platform and plane,
steps necessary,
to make mechanics
not mundane.

We have discovered little more
than the backstage hands
disguised and disguising
what we try not to see
the things that make strings sing
enjoying the undulations,
coherence unpinned.

But here comes the flaw:
the careful mechanics
of panic before
is what make moments worth
worrying for.

We hate what we make
because we won’t admit
what we need.

So listen, I am worried, indeed
that bridges shake
and tempt fate with dichotomized
we give up, or go on.

But consider shaking plane wings
make waters passable
and may let you swim.

So fill me with memories
like a rowboat with water.
Don’t offer me oars,
just tell me what’s true.

And one of those days when we walk
until our feet hate the pavement,
forgetting who heard what and not
as we ramble about leaving
our options open,
we will pass by the same
person we never noticed
before, who will wisely reply
“You’re gonna die
talking about your options.”

And then we’ll go swimming.

I believe in old ladies
I believe in church hats,
I believe in young people
falling in love,
and in embarrassment.

I believe in front steps,
in morning, rereading
and in repeating.
I believe in missing,
I believe in being confused
I believe in the smile after
the subway takes you.

I believe in the skyline,
in trees, hard days, slow ways,
and in being soothed.

I believe in love long
after it has no more worth
and I believe in change,
in changing plans,
making myths
in color wheels,
in trists and myrth
in trying, in living
with my best
not being
near enough, in no such thing
as enough,
in enough
enough.

I believe in exhaustion
in seeing everything,
whether or not it wants to be seen
I believe in children
on the subway
with their feet dangling,
and in the world being big,
I believe in being small,
in being always,
I believe I am overwhelmed.

I believe in falling and catching,
in recognizing need.
I believe in the moment
someone’s eyes want
being close.
I believe in wanting
to share a point of view
I believe in loneliness
and misguided isolation too.

I believe in
trusting, in showing
in sight sharing
in seeing and never seeing
the same,
in again.

I believe in changing
I believe in taking
things with you
I believe in treasure
I believe in loss
in making emptiness and
light filling, fulfilling
scarring and escape.

I believe in no escaping,
I believe in dreaming,
I don’t believe in sleep.

I believe in control
I believe in self,
I believe in knowing not for what
in misspelling
in mistakes.

I believe in stops, monuments
markers and sometimes even kerns.
I believe in swaying and winding
breadcrumbs away, away to
no way back.

I believe in pebbles
and remembering
in breaking fixtures
in fixing
in light bulbs
and in facts.

I believe
in crawling
beneath
jackets and sheets,
in Sundays and Mondays
and feeling too
lucky,
in loud, quiet, comfort
in muscles, ankles
and whatever is exposed.

I believe in
spinning sadness.

I believe in
what is and what is not.
I believe it is all about a red ribbon
someone did or did not tie in your hair,
what words someone did or did not say,
what words were or were not written there.

I believe in
symbols and sins
and unending
word searches.

I believe in searching,
not needing.
I believe in more
so much more than this.