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Visiting Artists As A Child (Poem)
before I knew paintings were to be seen only with your eyes
because artists kindly understood different ways
I would walk to their work with outstretched arms
run my hands across the surface to find how it appeared
green felt different from orange or red or blue
yellow was so distinct I would tell the painters
it smelled like metal in the hot summer
a few would nod and sit on the ground beside me
they knew the world was like this, all texturecolorsoundscent
and we could talk
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I Have Never Been A Girl (Poem)
we fought a silent war in a battlefield that changed
sometimes clothing, sometimes names, sometimes behavior
the ground remained the same
she said I was a girl though disdained me for a daughter
I knew I was not, had always known, refused to back down
that was really what she hated, that I would not be quiet
her campaign became scorched earth
since she could not win, she would simply destroy
to prove herself right, she threw me to harm
a girl can have horrible things done by horrible boys
a girl can have terrible things done by terrible men
still I talked and said what they did, what they were allowed to do
a girl can be told that she makes things up and worse
a girl can be told that everything was her own fault
I was not the girl she tried to make me become
I walked away after all they did and all she said
I found my own place in the world
they/their/them
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The Refuge Of Ordinary Acts (Poem)
grief again again and again
a poet killed, a writer imprisoned
a boy in hunger, a girl in flight
missiles through the sky, bombs beneath the earth
the world wailing and tears the only language
then
small kindnesses stave the overwhelm of despair
a fallen jacket returned, unnoticed on the cafe floor
a brief smile shared, passed along on the back street
a local sign righted, toppled by the afternoon wind
a barking dog petted, uncaring of consequence
such acts of connection reminders, allowing all to breathe
love heals, and in many forms
