Wednesday, July 23, 2014

A Woman's Intuition

Women are taught to trust their intuition.
Men don’t have to, because men don’t need to.
Women have to look over their shoulders,
Be afraid,
Because even though
This is a safe neighborhood,
There is still that flesh memory
Of wrongs done
Imprinted into our skin
Since the time we were born.

“Such a pretty girl.”
We have to be pretty,
But that makes us sluts.
We’re asking for it
By the way we strut,
In those shorts,
Down the sidewalk,
When the sun’s about to set.

And now we don’t answer your catcalls
So we’re bitches
And we’re whores,
Because whores are people who don’t sleep with people.
It’s a new definition, just in,
And you better agree,
Because your opinion doesn’t matter
And your voice isn’t welcome
In this discussion.
Just do as you’re told.

And even though this is the West
I still feel that tingle on my spine,
When I walk one block after dark.
I feel the Mulveyian gaze upon me,
My eyes and ears are alert,
And I’m probing the darkness
With my sixth sense.

All the while there are visions in my head
Of men jumping from bushes,
Of girls going into the fields to relieve themselves,
Raped and slaughtered.
It is our collective memory.
Our gender wears it always,
Like a yellow patch.
And if we try to fight it
We’re hysterical,
We are fragile and feeble-minded.
We haven’t a clue what we are talking about.

So now you are going to look at me and say,
I’m a feminist,
Throw that label on me like some sort of slander.
But I am female.
And until I can step outside my door
Not afraid of my own footfalls,
I am going to put these words out there,

And dream of a better world.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Midnight Bullet Train

We don't sleep here,
At the edge of dreams,
And nightmares, 
The city sprawled somewhere near
And glowing softly,
Where ideas flutter in a flurry,
Furious wing-beating, and competing,
The brain rides a bullet train
From station to station.
And in the next room...
A muffled cry
For, in the shadows
Our deepest fears lie.
They bubble to the surface,
Inky black,
And while the city sleeps,
I weep
And later while the sun rolls out,
I'll nap! 

Monday, April 28, 2014


The wild dogs are there,
To bite away the parts
That no longer serve me. 
Each bite frees me from myself,
Until I am just the fire of spirit.
I rise from the ashes
Of a misguided past,
As a phoenix, reborn.

I am present.
I am aware.
I am a tree,
Whose roots reach deep into the earth.
My branches stretch up tall.
My leaves brush the heavens.
My core beats in time,
With Mother Earth.
Out heartbeats are the same.
I see through her eyes,
Each living thing,
Tinted with the hue of serenity.
Each flaw,
Makes us perfect.

The North

There is an urgent calling in the middle of the night,
That the north still owns my soul.
It is like the growling of a pack of restless, wild dogs.
It plucks me from tender sleep,
To a nightmarish land
Defined by isolation and the peculiar characters
The stillness draws.
Babies cry,
Wind howls,
And we are separated
By shifting, shattering ice,
And blowing storms.
I batten down the hatches of my mind,
To weather out the worst of it.
My spirit takes on the edge of survival.
I feel the frost-bitten burn of desperation.
Children cower,
Wolves circle,
Enter in the dark of a midwinter's day.
The north holds me in its frozen jowls,
And I can never slip away.

The Jagged Chevy Waltz

Meandering in the tangled corn,
I chanced on a barn, looking so forlorn.
What happened next, before my eyes
Was startling, such a surprise!
The music of radios and dusty old horns
Echoed out among the corns,
And suddenly tires started to spin.
The barn dance was about to begin.
Such a sight had never been seen,
By me or any human being.
Old cars from abandoned fields and lots,
Filed in to start the old fox trot.
It was a strange mix of sharp turns and halts,
The jagged Chevy waltz!

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Not A China Doll

I hate it
When you think
I'm fragile like a china doll
That you need to hold me tight
And shelter me from the world
So I try to be silent
So you won't worry about me
Or act like you are walking on eggshells
Then you say
You want to hear my opinions
You say you love to know what I'm thinking
So I speak
And then somehow
Between my lips and your ears
Misunderstanding occurs
And again, you try to put me on a pedestal
Your little china doll
Silent painted lips once more