before the next rain


storms come from the west
always west
gray-black portent clouds
push back eastern light
coax angry waves to shore
tensions climb across sand
lightning fingers the sea
out of reach, out of reach

i stand behind my safety glass
looking west before the next rain





turning the corner


night and day and night again
sleep comes or hides randomly
i am awake, i am asleep, i dream
and always in my dreams

my heart battles my insecurities
projects onto roiling clouds of fear
each good deed i have done
each kind word ever spoken

painting muscle back over bone
laid bare by careless trespasses
laying new skin over old wounds
carved deep by thoughtless gestures

etching prayers i could never say aloud
into the cumulus vapor
comforting me with the gentle hope

that mother drew to cover my young fears
until the words become my own
spilling from my heart, out across my lips
into flames of pained petition

i am old, make me young enough to dance
i am afraid, grant me peace, and faith
i am a prayer, turning the corner from childhood
fill my lamp with oil that never fails

trim the wick, fuel the flame, shield my heart
forgive me when i do not know
what harm i might have done





death as a naked woman


came to me in an hour of despair
said she would be my escort home
fee paid in full, no tip required

she pulled my hand to a breast
the color of aged ivory
cold, silky, and smooth
not the pale, languid white
of vampires' faces
or the bloodless dainty bosoms
of medieval portraits

i was unmoved

she lifted my gaze to her eyes
not deep, dark pools of poet-lore
but lively, sparkling emeralds
as though she had just blown in
from columbia, zambia or brazil
fresh from taking her fill
of broken-backed miners

i did not blink

she brushed her lips across mine
smiled to show the seductive contrast
of pearls against rubies
spoke softly, sweetly in my terrified ears
come into death
let me be your first
and last desire

i forgot to breathe, briefly

but i am old, and thoughtful
no longer the fire-veined youth
who would have leaped at the chance
no, i simply whispered back
you've got the wrong number
i'm waiting for the ancient one
hooded black cloak, sharpened scythe
no face to speak of
that's the only death
i care to follow

she took me anyway




returning


how do i tell you this
that i must not die first
that the thrill of jet-thrust
has yielded to the quiet fear
of not returning

the irritation of check-in
with its attendant complaints
swallowed in the knowing
how trivial it is against
the turmoil you would face
the devastation if this time
i could not return

the captain's command
to turn off all devices
rings painfully with
the possibility that we
might never speak again
that all our past conversations
are doomed to fade away
if i do not return

seat belts
carry-on bags
personal items
oxygen masks
become a litany
a rosary
each bead a new
prayer for protection
if i am not catholic
will saint christopher
listen anyway
or punt my request
to a supervisor
who will decide simply
if i return

how do i still this new misgiving
that threatens me
mocks me with the thought
that life is not now
was not ever
in my control
that in this flying metal tube
i could be removed
from your daily menu
without warning, without hope
of safe return

this is a foreign feeling
with ragged, sharp edges
that pull at my confidence
scrape my faith raw
knowing it is pointless
to worry, knowing
i will anyway
until the front door
announces my return