Man Alone
Big, angry hands
have felt damp thighs after sex,
moist ground after rain.
These hands, my hands,
so quick to hurt
yet seeking to soften, stroke,
ease their pain.
Feet, blistered and bruised,
have run from the light,
the blinding white light.
These feet, my feet,
time to rest, to be washed,
cleansed, and renewed.
Memories, red and raw,
fade with time.
Honoring the code crossed the line.
Visions in the back of my mind
find no ration nor rhyme.
Slanted, furious eyes, my eyes,
have seen green ink, golden tongues,
an array of blacks and silvers.
They have bled in awakening
and cried.
Yet I am never satisfied.
Melissa
Small and flaxen,
she drifted with vagabonds
across the borders, scarred.
Unsure.
​
In her lap sat
books of maps.
Barrage of words on pages
worn, ragged, torn.
​
From small to smaller,
numbers out of order,
letters skewed.
No marker of where
she was born.
​
Shattered chapters,
the cover a large factor
in how she learned
to smile on cue.
Passerby’s never saw
beyond the fence.
Panic and static in the attic,
rats at war.
​
Turmoil exploding
behind enemy lines.
Broken bottles of wine
on the scoured floors.
​
Buried in her nest,
books in the treasure chest,
the wind shifted to the West.
She couldn’t keep up the pace
and got lost in time and space.
​
Her life story reads
one short paragraph
in this epitaph:
​
“She was small and flaxen,
lips curved in a bow,
cover never blown.
Here lies Melissa,
lost on a map,
origins unknown.”
I Declare War
​
The battlefield is covered
With razorblade terrain
Muddy river tries to swallow me whole
I shove the rig in my vein
Blood spits at me incessantly, relentlessly
Forgotten days
Confused about pain
I succumb to the stain
Able is slain.
Memoir of Your Daughter
Oh Father
The sun has seen longer days.
Eyes blinded by your ways.
Shadows cast over the sun.
My grief has just begun.
Picturesque sunset far behind.
If only you could press rewind.
​
Oh Father
Games of hide and seek.
Photos shred as I weep.
By your rules I did abide.
Old and new wounds ripped wide.
I scurried about, quiet as a mouse,
up the stairs of the madhouse.
​
Oh Father
Secrets, deceit, so many lies.
The family pretended you weren’t high.
For your sins I dearly paid
as you ran around on feet of clay.
You blasted through my life;
They were none the wise.
​
Oh Father
A carousel horse and ballerina music box
did not keep me from hiding behind golden locks.
Not quite insulated in Candyland,
blocking out the pain of your heavy hand.
I stared into the looking glass,
praying for the explosions to pass.
​
Oh Father
Lost in never – never land,
I never believed I’d hold your hand
while you laid on your deathbed,
organs dripping red.
So many wondered how I forgave
your impudent transgressions and refusal to behave.