Unto Her

Grace Paley

I read her
words
often, then

I find that
the corners of my
eyes are stuck
with sadness, too
much emotion

dislodged from the queued,
perpetual backlog
always waiting on the
bridge between my
ears and
throat

first line
of that poem
for her
about her
to her
mother

always
turns the

tap

and quietly
I leak
a stream slow
down my cheeks
on to the
edge of her
page

and wish that
sometimes
I’d remember to
open her
book
on happier
days

Love,

Muse

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Sunset Zone

Enter, Data.

In the yellow
of
this only room

in the
clatter of
barren keys

with my  feet
in stone

and my head
in
the
clear

I wander through
in pages
from
past jaunts of strangers
’96 starflower
’92 moss

and wonder
when
I may

tumble my
way back
out of my…

Alice’s.
rabbit hole

and meet myself.

again

Love,

Muse

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Chart

After Night

fingers are
my mirror

now
I have
a new
landscape
slightly
different
body map
new
landmarks but
same soul

Love,

Muse

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Bare

Last Chance

in the place where

dreams go
to
die

there is
this small
little box

on it
a label
so faded
worn from
the light
and the sandy
tongue of time
scraping against its edge

if you did
pick it up
you would find
the lightness
of a bird

but feel
the burden
of a thousand
people’s secrets

no latch
none necessary
held shut
only just
with the power
behind nightmares
the strength with
which
hopes
are killed

and with
all the silence

of cold
empty
outer
space.

Love,

Muse

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In Our Sleep

Pause In The Hill

I lay in the
park the
other day

only it
wasn’t.

and next to stones.
instead.

and on the grass
in the cemetery
the bugs
bit the skin

near my hips

and as I stared up into the trees
arms folded
fingers tucked
in hair

I wondered what
it’d
be like

to just be green
and
quiet

for a

while.

Love,

Muse

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Coasting Uphill

Cold Wind in August

summer has changed
its face

it was once a
switch
flipped on
by the sweet
lazy fingers of
Demeter

Lately
It’s gone all
wrong
awry, somehow

with rain
on backs
of hands
nippy winds
blowing into
earts longing
for nothing
but a sip of warmth
and a kiss of heat
behind their knees

to think

the days when
flowers bloomed
as the calender shifted
the hours

A novelty
I miss.

Love,

Muse

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The Ways That I Live

Bust in the Hood

wake every
morning
to the sound
of diffused hate

faint snatches
of the echo
of grownup mistakes

often I find
behind, on the stairs
coloured pellets
resting faded

from the toy
guns of the untaught

at my table,  as I eat,
rough, parroted words
flung lightly
shoot down the
rows of
houses

with the snide,
dangerous
“hey missus”
boldly greeting,
returning home
in the golden light
amidst chairs
missing a leg
and a sodden ball

the muffled giggles
at my back
keys in the lock
of children
that nobody wants

Love,

Muse

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Jumping Through The Fence

Preamble

I  have this horse
c’mon get

on
we’re going to carry you for miles
until we reach the valley
A  Path To Water

if you
really
open your eyes

you can see
part of
another world
from here

if not at least
a town

walk along the coast

there is no where

that can feel

greener
something here
sets my soul free
to rest on rocks
as the tide comes in

red mud
stretching over
to the bay
some days you can see
the rain
over there

daisies sway over the wind
bees landing on the ground
water welling up
under the stones
pulled back to
the shore

rustles in the grass
as the air becomes damp
bringing the dog
back to
he who
threw the ball

As the tide wanders in.

Love,

Muse

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Floating Above

Odyssey of REM

I never could
fully remember
a dream

snatched from
other levels
of mind
activity

by the everyday beep
bleeding light
sounds in the hall
enthusiastic birds

to grasp
at every time
colours
a face
and miss

travels in a universe
that I
cannot access
of my own free will
willingly
consciously
unless it is
past 1am

I wish to
meet the people
who dwell in
the closets of my mind
the cities that lie folded
in drawers
until I enter REM

some of those trees
houses and front lawns
feel explorable
familiar

strange sensation
of wanting to revisit
images you couldn’t draw
verbal description lacking

people without
skin warmth
imagined up
parts of me?
or fragments of
the souls
met and left
on the bus
imprints of their
worries, baggage
and destination
stuck in
my cortex
like dust
by mistake

appearing
and then exiting
every night
every day of my life
from whence they came

from the impulses
contained
behind my eyes.

Love,

Muse

A.N.: Is this where deja vu comes from? Maybe you forget the things you see in dreams then they walk into you on the street. Like strangers  crashing into you on the way to an appointment.

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Celebration Station

July, The 1st

On my street
the firecrackers
sound
a snap
in the dark

envisioning probable calamity
as I brush
my teeth

hearing the

high

pyrotechnic screams
that allude to

the potential

for

smoking cardboard
gunpowder
and cheap flames

later draped on
neighborhood trees

so do
they bless
the day
the place
or the occasion
to wave
weave
flock

pester
criticize
and imbibe

patriotism.

in the liquid form
of gathered excuses
for excess
celebration

and shame.

Love,

Muse

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