claire can't see me.

a mom who is cooler in words than in life.

Archive for poems

free write: yellow brick road girl.

ease on down, mister, & let me lie an explanation
in the psalm of your hands
because religiously i am lost
but here in our chapel i am holy Married
to the sweet hymn of our collective misguidance
you the tin man
crumpled under the weight of your shoulders
& me, the wizard disguised as Dorthy
hidden, yet unassuming
i am the yellow brick road
golden with good intentions
& merriment
& no clear direction as to how i got this far
from a proper introduction
one where i don’t whisper crucial facts
or send smoke signals that resemble heart shaped clouds
you don’t know me aloud
with you i neither roar nor wail
i ease
i ease
i ease
on down the road, paved & golden
with no clear direction
as to where i’m leading you next.

half half poetry month remnants.

her name

ive never said this louder
than a whisper pushed into closed palms
on a train headed north
with an empty winter jacket
watching barren trees wave goodbye
to my reflection on the window
& my legs resting on the unoccupied space beside me
i distinctively remember my phone
no ring
no call for my return
or pleas for explanation of missing weekends
no concerned voice to swallow me whole
& demand my safe arrival
i tried to wait
but my ticket was paid for with
the weight of your response
nothing was left
between us
or in me
by the time I reached back home
i had left the whole story
in a city too crowded to be noticed
my comings & goings were never detected
until you asked me
why i left
completely turned away from you
embracing the blank night
that hung between the remnants
of unclaimed lovers
you deserved an answer
but i never told you
that i liked the name
coraline
i only whispered the letters into
cursive prayers
etching them into my
empty hands.

for a.k.

you can’t write a love song
for someone else’s husband
no matter how bitter the name of his wife taste on your combined tongues
piano chords can’t disguise betrayal
but it can turn it to a radio friendly excuse
for star crossed lovers to dance silently under
& i might even hum along
sometimes
cause the artist in me understands the complication
of mistaking a muse for a lover
in the wrong light
decisions can be made easier
but since a spotlight follows you on & off stage
while you try to sing empowerment into the backbones
of women possibly left broken by missing husbands
i’d think you’d understand
my hesitation to clap.

 

“im a recovering undercover over lover/recovering from a love i cant get over”-badu

the wind stopped by today
told me you were in love
& left as quickly as it came
with no further details of how
or when
you changed the meaning of space
& needing it
she must be an astronaut
or something else that im obviously not
but if you woulda left breadcrumbs
i woulda figured out a way to become it
i’m something of a poet
so i coulda similed myself to your liking
it woulda been worth the midnight oil
but instead im left unchanged & unsure
if i fit my own image of love
any more
cause i saw you as my reflection
& now i don’t see you in me at all
love is blind like that
& i didnt foresee this outcome
thought it would be too cliche
too redundant
to happen to me again
this time i loved harder
broke bled bent & believed
beyond any doubt that i could
out love you enough
to take on your burden
of loving me
that I could love us enough for us
& survive off the droplets of whatever runneth over from my outpouring heart
i thought I would drown
any pause you had
any silence
any sigh or shrug
any straight to voicemail call
i thought i could outlast
your doubts
your second glances in opposite directions
your fidgety fingers in my hands
i tried to bribe venus
& offer my allegiance under any other
planet that was found more compatible
for you
because I knew
pluto was no longer considered significant enough to draw you in
& i tried every trick in the book
to keep you
but you werent into keeping
another character flaw of mine
you said
& before i could try to change that
you put on your space suit
& apologized to the wind
for taking too long.

rough draft

“i know things fall apart/intentions shatter” -The Roots

i never rewrite poems

because i don’t regret the first draft
i’ve gotten plenty of practice being the mistake
in the love lines of some boy’s palms
my intentions are always misinterpreted
by lonely fortune tellers
& earth signs fascinated by the dangers of waves

by you

& i can’t edit me out of your life’s story
just to save face
from the future advice that you’ll give your sons
regarding love
but i’ll accept the blame

for you

i tried to offer different versions
of the truth
sweet on the tongue tales
sultry sung lullaby’s between sheets & lips & letters home
& you probably didn’t notice that love
in a milder form
was always the foundation of that
that i had fashioned a hammock out of lies
for you to comfortably sleep in
without being awaken by the door closing behind me
i always knew i would leave
i just thought you would have been ready by then
i had spent many nights trying to strengthen your spine
stretched out in my therapy
i massaged your ego into form
& hoped that you’d see yourself as art
but instead you made me your museum
& gave credit only to the artist & not the muse
so i had no choice

i left you

like an incomplete poem
no hope to be had in the conclusion
no moral of the story
& no further points to be made
i just have to accept the blame
& the fact that
i never rewrite my poems.

(practice)

i’m going back over the draft titles of posts that i meant to write and decided that this would make go practice for me. please note this is not meant to be good. just an excercise to getting back into the swing of words.

he’s not a god.

& yet & still & til this day
my memory bends & breaks
at his feet
my body weeps
folded over into an origami bird
flightless beauty of manipulation
turned art
that easily rips apart
i am devout to disaster.

dear lawd

i forgive u
& i don’t know if gawds can be forgiven
but zora said that we fashion gawds in our own image
& i know how guilt ridden i can be
so, i forgive you for taking my momma
& i understand you wanted good company.

don’t go too far

one day they’ll leave
they’ll sneak their life in a bookbag
or let sum boy/girl borrow it
they’ll ration my portion of it
to minute replies of “everything’s fine”
when i ask to be invited into their day
they’ll assign me as spectator
& store the remaining truths in their locker at school
i know that one day
they’ll question my relevance
&  snicker over their bare shoulders going out the door
bubble gum flavored breath will blow across the threshold
when i talk
i know they won’t be able to hear me over the speakers in their mind
bumping someone’s advice that’s easier to dance to then my complicated jazz
& i’ll have to rifle through their thoughts to find evidence to prove our once upon a time friendship
i know it will all come to soon
they’ll be ready to leave before i’m ready to let go
but i hope i can convince them to not go too far.

its not a love story

when i said goodbye
he searched my eyes for reason
&  then he realized
my pupils were only pools of mud
& not amber
my face was a collection of mismatched memories
& not a horizon of stars
my name was not a melody of syllables
but rather unrhymatic complications to tongues.

& he no longer needed an answer
he could see  it himself
we were not a love story
just a plot twist.

eulogy for him

last night while walking down the hall
bedroom light illuminating my steps
i caught a glimpse of my shadow
& i realized i am not the same
i am no longer slight
my print along the wall in no way resembles
the shadow you made me
many midnights ago
top heavy & heaving
crumbled legs, bent & begging
distorted portions
elongated arms always stretching towards
an empty ceiling
in some sort of prayer stance
i seemed
wailing with my body Read the rest of this entry »

poem for strangers: for f

we’re strangers now
but once before
we knew each other by other names
more familiar in our former skins
covered in anxiety and acne
back then
break ups/downs/& throughs
seemed less heavy for slumped shoulders
to handle in pairs
we were always together
attached by sob stories of missing fathers who lived arund the corner
of our mother’s gossiping lips
we couldn’t help but fall into a friendship
our uncoordinated knees had us stumbling upon
the greatest adventures of boredom & laughter
we, unrealized beauties
scented in giggles
adorned in secrets
we sough each other for reflection
no longer relying on mirrors
to speak of our glory
in pig latin
we pinky promised our escape plans
would include each other…

but, that was a long time ago
& that magic of us has been reversed.
we’re strangers again now.

__

it’s not even close to good…but craptastical is a part of the process, remember that.

i come from a long line of mistakes.

“when you’re raised by brick, you easily forget the flaw of flesh”

samoan women are made to be beautiful brick
with hard hands and rough feet
and perfect scars
used often by others
as road maps to cross burnt bridges
we are brutal mothers
and arguing wives
cursing, yelling, slapping
our way to the kitchen
where we always eat last
picking over whatever is left
off the plates of others who have greedy eyes and lazy mouths
we dine on the last bits of humility
and gather the scraps to stretch honor
& hope
that tomorrow will bring enough
for everyone else to be happy
while we wait
our tears become dust that we sweep busy hands across
hurrying off
making sure that husbands are full
and children are fed
and uncles are fine
and guests are welcomed
because this is love to us
this we know we can provide
with our lava lavas tied tightly around our waist
we hide behind our complaints
& make shadows on the tiled floor
moving between sink and stove
washing, cooking, cleaning, fixing
just as our mothers have taught us how
we transform ourselves into homes
solid brick walls
that protect the ones enclosed inside
by sacrificing
appreciation
from our children
as they run to
move out
of our ways.

to our daughters,
forgive us.

how you been – a poem

i’m not the type that comes fully prepared
but i’m sure you remember that
words will inevitably be at the bottom of my purse
& i’ll have to jingle change around in search
of the right thing to say
when we run into each other at the corner
of awkward and regret
i’ll be surprised that i can barely recognize your neck
or your ear lobes
or your squint in the sun
& every other stretch of skin i’ve ran across with careful tongue
even the syllables of your name
will feel too loose around my mouth
& i don’t doubt that you’ll notice the difference
the occupied space
that i unintentionally will display
while my left hand sweeps my bangs from across my face
you’ll be forced to walk my memory down the isle
& give me away
with a dowry of apologies
& a head nod
as we move in the opposite direction
i’ll only look back to make sure
i’m going the right way.