love is a dying star

this is what i know

that for love to die

it takes millions

and millions

of years

or it never happens

at all

it came to me that night

we went for ice cream in the snow

and we saw a shooting star

right then i said to myself

that star is dying

but you were one step ahead of me

you were already holding that star in your hand

you were putting that star in your pocket

saving it for an end

we both know will never come

and i know you still have that star there

you pin it to the inside

of every day you wear

i know it will stay with you

for millions

and millions

of years

and that is as close to an ending

as this love can fathom

          *          *          *

The Space Between

I.               I should tell you that some things don't go away even when they're gone. Not even when the only record of them ever happening is the memory itself. Not even when the heat of the sun fries them as if they were ants on the sidewalk on a hot Mojave day.

II.              Hold on. Don’t hold on.

III.            Memories are records of what was but also of what is and what will never be.

IV.            It is a shame that a person can’t attend his or her own funeral. Nothing would scare us if we could reach across time with a Sharpie and put our initials on everything that makes us shine.

V.             Fears are the real ghosts of this world.

VI.            Boo!

VII.          Imagine a world in which all of our wishes were premonitions. In that world the space between us would never cause us pain.

VIII.         I look at your photograph and find myself marveling at the way time is deepening the hollows around your eyes, when I know full well it is nonsense to think I can hold on to the things that don’t belong to me.

IX.            It is nonsense to think we can hold on to the things we love.

X.             And so I marvel at how formidable I am when the moon is in Sagittarius and the songs are in my heart. 

XI.            Memory is the space between us. And by ‘us’ I mean it is the ‘and’ between you and me.

XII.          Memory is the last time I held your hand in mine. Memory is all the times our lips will never meet. Memory is an individual chronology of ghosts.

XIII.         The only way to combat inertia is to act.

XIV.        What is the point of remembering? For instance:

a.)    I was once on a plane that almost crashed in a typhoon at Narita Airport.

b.)    I once got married.

c.)    I once spent an entire night awake in a bed watching a man sleep because I knew there was a very good chance I would never get to sleep beside him again.

d.)    I once held a smiling child in my arms, whispering to him that although he would never remember the moment, I would never forget it.

This is what I’m talking about.

Memories are not images.

They are feelings.

Apparitions.

IF YOU HAVE KISSED ME THEN YOU KNOW

i devoured him
as if he were a cherry in my mouth
all of them

i have
dived into
as if they were the sea

heads underwater
tongues serpentining
throats

and every one of them
would take me back
every one of them

still dream the same dream

if you have kissed me then
you know what i mean

the greatest gift
you can give a lover

is to allow them to breathe
underwater

everything seems so close
until you get    closer

everything seems so daffodil  
until you learn how to swim

but i have never mistook a tidal wave
for a broken halo or a spool of thread

though more than once i have mistaken a body
for a promise i wanted to keep

above all i believe
we are as trivial as we are burning

above all i believe
all men are born free

kiss me kiss me kiss me, my sweet 

kiss me and you will know what i mean


*          *          *


(this poem was inspired by the works of Sylvia Plath)

CONNECT THE DOTS: A Love Story

1.) Like the time I was trying to pretend I was tougher than I am and I told my lover I didn't need anyone to take care of me and he said but I want to take care of you and that's when it happened. That's when everything inside of me softened and I realized his love was panoramic. 2.) His love is panoramic. 3.) And the time I thought I had been broken but it turned out I'd only been mistaken. 4.) Connect the dots. 5.) Every time I play connect the dots I draw pictures I never could have made without all those other steps showing me the way. 6.) My lover's body is a gift between midnight and the dawn. A space where we do not need light in order to find each other. 7.) Stay there. Stay right where you are and let everything around you change. You will change too. But it will be without having to be wrestled to the ground. 8.) Every moment is a lesson in evolution. 9.) My lover's hands are a lesson in holding on. 10.) The only way to defy gravity is to believe in it. Believe in it with all your heart and atrophy will not affect your bones. 11.) Yesterday my friend asked me for advice on men but what could I tell her? My lover is a lesson in warm affection and my coldest former flame was a lesson in chiropractics. 12.) Never chase a man whose head is two inches ahead of his body. It means he lives in the past. 13.) And if someone tells you they will never be good enough for you you should believe them because why would anybody make up a thing like that? 14.) That is all the advice I have. 15.) Connect the dots. 16.) My lover's love is panoramic. 17.) People tell us who they are all the time. We just have to listen. 18.) Love is as love does. 19.) We do. 20.) We are. 21.) And when my lover puts his hands over my eyes and then takes his hands away I am always somewhere new. 22.) Nothing lasts very long. Not even sadness. 23.) How could I have not seen this before? 24.) Trust me when I say that even the most circuitous route will turn into a clear image in the end. 25.) We all need to take care of each other. 26.) My lover's love is panoramic.

*.         *.         *.

THE FIRST TIME I FELT MY SPINE

I remember the first time I realized it

was beating. Yes, the spine beats too

from the inside out just like

the heart. The beating of the spine is

an articulate rhythm of longing. It is a pounding with

words attached—words that are engraved on your vertebrae. 

Your future as part of your history.

Every potential moment perdure.

The spine is where the desire for a life less ordinary lives.

It was November of 1989 and I was in a movie theater

waiting for a film to start.

A film starring Shirley MacLaine and Julia Roberts

and other actors I can’t remember. These details

are not important. What matters is that it came to me then,

sitting in that theater all by myself.

I dreamed up the person I wanted to be

and I set about becoming her.

Promising myself I would never lead

an inconsequential life.

This is one promise

I have kept.

Knowing who you want to be

is often more important than knowing what.

We all have this wisdom

living in the bones of our backs

some dying a little every day

to get out.

It is impossible to be great by accident.

And the bones always ask for more.

          *          *          *

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY LOVER ON VALENTINE'S DAY

To my darling lover- 

When I was a seed in the ground you were the sun and the water that helped me out of the dirt. Weeds can be beautiful too. Like the dandelions you pick for me on your bike rides. But you know this already, don’t you? You’ve known all along, instinctively, all the things it took me years to learn. You know that wild flowers are not born with broken hearts, and that love songs are not battle songs or songs of fear, they are gospel songs and symphonies. Thank you for always being where you were meant to be, even when I was lost. Thank you for being smart back when I was being so unbelievably stupid. Thank you for biding your time when I was wasting mine. Thank you for never disappointing me no matter how many times I may have disappointed you. Thank you for never being afraid of my passion or your own. Thank you for recognizing the value of independence and individuality, and for never asking me to be anyone except exactly who I am. Thank you for living life and love with the bravery and strength of a hero. Thank you for being a cartographer of that love, and for using my body as the map. On our own we are two bright stars in a vast and lonesome sky. Together we are a constellation. A long and crooked road can still lead to a promised land. The past is a house that has burned down, so far behind us we can no longer see the smoke nor taste the ashes. Not that we look back anyway. Ours is a journey facing right now. Fluid. Impermanent. Beautiful. Evolving. Unknown. Every blink is a beginning. Every hungry kiss an adventure. This is as easy as breathing and as difficult as climbing a mountain. I am your artist and your muse and your lascivious partner in crime. Inspired by your goodness. Humbled by your greatness. Warmed by your kindness. Drenched by your desire. I love you with the grace of an angel and the courage of an astronaut. We do not belong to each other we belong to this moment and this moment belongs to us.

We surrender.

          *          *          *       

ASH & PHOSPHENE

It was the silence that I noticed first
The disorder cured
The breaking of the curse

Then the scratches and scrapes
The scars and the aches
I couldn’t feel them any more

All the little sorrows and rocks
That had lived and tumbled
Inside my heart

Like razor blades in a washing machine
Had transformed into stillness
Ash and phosphene 

Where heartbreak was once the noise that I breathed
For this moment is buried
Under my feet

And now the burden is gone the day is sweet
I see it all so clearly now
I am free I am free


*     *     *  

CELESTIAL MECHANICS

“One of the constellations the Milky Way passes through is Sagittarius, where it is brightest…”


For years I have carried a tiny solar system in a small silk pouch in my purse. A refulgent souvenir of the possible as opposed to the actual. Every moment is a first and a last. But one day my purse became too heavy and I decided to put the little worlds into a Ziploc bag and take a hammer to them. With all my might I tried to smash the glass globes to bits. Not out of anger but out of joy. Not in response to fury but in celebration of freedom. My intention was to turn the planets to dust and sprinkle the debris into the air as if I were scattering the ashes of a loved one who had passed away. But the planets could not be crushed. They would not be crushed no matter how hard I hit them. Perhaps some things are indestructible. Even fragile things. So I remain their keeper, their home, their burning light infuser. The laws of nature sometimes overpower my intentions but they also reinforce my deepest truths. Even still I do not need a galaxy of wishes at this time. Hope is what one clings to when one has nothing else. I have everything else. And when I stand alone in the blackest of darkness with this gleaming universe in my hand I can see the future. Just a flash but it is enough. I already know how this polymorphous story ends. Finally, she said. We are all happy now.


* * *

woman (messiah)

i am many things
br o k e n
and just dazzled enough
to deprive the sky
of sight

soothsayer of the future alchemist of rain

making wine
where there were only
tears

hearting a beat
where there was only
silence

i can do this better
than any other
woman (messiah)

¡Ahora! you fool, i howl

throwing blood and thunderstorms
onto the porches of
your demons

i only want
that you are bliss

my heart a hospital
for the wounded

uncertainty is a welcome guest
here:

pranayama BTW
a chemical and physical process
out of me ~ into you

adumbrate all you want

there will be no aftermath

i am always here

this is effortless now


* * *

HORIZONTAL TRIPTYCH

1.) That the rain never stops falling I take rent of your sorrow. Treading water upside down. How can I not be indebted to you? You taught me how to swim and every emotion in between. If there is a wall in your way let me turn it into an ocean. I cannot drown no matter how furious the flood. When the remains of your intentions sink to the bottom the water rises and so do I. Synchronicity is a thirteen-letter word. A collision. The moment we loved one another was the moment we were doomed to greatness. But commit this to memory, my love: Greatness is a choice.

2.) I will never say ‘What if’ of my own accord. If words could kill which ones would do you in? Brave men never die of starvation. They are too ravenous. Gnaw on my ribs like a mountain lion devours the deer. I will nourish your body and replenish the sound heaven makes when it is no longer hungry. Ask God and he will tell you. The only way to view defeat is through a kaleidoscope pointed toward a dream. We belong to each other and to nothing. You need my flesh to feed the light. I need your breath to expand my lungs. Love is symbiotic.

3.) Without you there would be no graffiti on the backs of my eyelids. Without you I would be well-rested and dry. But enough of this nonsense. I will enjoy shelter when I am dead. Tonight I wish to sleep underneath your thunderstorm. You are my last thought at night and my first upon waking. Why not make it easy on me? I am connected to the rain like the melody is connected to the song. Let us sing it together. You need to learn to stop remembering. I need to learn not to forget. My only regrets are the ones I carry for others. I have no shame. I have only love. Rip it open.


* * *

the linguistics of death

in language

tense is the time of action
not the time of death

if there were no past tense
could anyone ever truly

disappear

and how would we feel today
if we had no way to put into words
what happened yesterday

last month
last year
or when we were children

why can’t language consistently aspire
to keep us alive

imagine no simple past (he was)
and no past perfect (he had been)

only he is and he will be

in that world our hearts would not ache
the way they now ache, ached,

have ached, will ache, and will have ached

we are bound by finite forms
and conjugations that allow
for the lives of our loved ones

to come to an end

and that makes language useless to explain
the chest-crushing loneliness
and the need to put our rage

into question form

why didn’t he—
how come I—
when will this—

can’t you see that without the past
we would be invincible

love and sorrow can begin in an instant
and yet they take forever to go away

perhaps the only reason to stay alive
from this moment on
is because we are free

for when one has survived the darkest hours
and lost what we have lost
there is nothing left to fear

VALENTINE

To my beloved
my be loved
my be all and end all love

Believe me when I say
I am still chasing you after all these years
and like a forest fire I move
faster uphill

There is never an absence of song
when you are within my view
But there is a part of me that cannot stop grieving
every moment I don’t spend with you

If I accepted the idea that love was impermanent
my longing for you would already be gone
But here I am word painting you a valentine
and still wishing I was in your arms

Had we never met I might be invincible
but my spirit looks for yours in every room
And whether near or far I belong to you forever
the way the tide belongs to the moon

♥ ♥ ♥

SHE DOES NOT DREAM OF IGLOOS

She asked him to meet her in Sausalito so they could sit on a bench
and stare at the Golden Gate Bridge.
She didn’t want to talk she just wanted to hold his hand.
He never came.
She thinks about how only love can make a person believe in love.
She thinks about his hands and where they are now.
Out there in the world without hers in them.
She wonders if he knows what has been lost.
There is no word for yesterday in the Eskimo language.
But there were laws that governed him.
Laws she would have complied with.
He thought she didn't understand
but she knows that sometimes words aren’t necessary
and that sometimes you can touch someone more deeply
by not touching them at all.
Now even the letters are gone.
Drowned.
She has no record of this ever happening.
What she wouldn’t give
for a haiku valentine
an everlasting hallelujah
and a lock of his hair.
She does not dream of igloos
she dreams of the way
gravity pulls a hammer towards a nail.
She would rather be a carpenter than an Eskimo.
Broken homes can be renovated
but no one would exist without history.
It is better to build things
that can’t one day melt away.
We are what we love
after all.

SOMEONE ALWAYS HAS TO DIE

At first I did nothing. I wanted to write a poem about the
intruder who broke into my car and took my yoga mat and a
bouquet of lilacs even though my computer was on the seat
beside them. I did not want to write about love, loss, or grief.

And then I realized two things.

First, I am a woman filled with sparks, shadows, and the
crimson sorrows of all of my ancestors. Love is an element of my body.

Second, one way or another
someone always has to die in the end.

* * *

Wait. How’s this for pathetic? He was two steps away from
victory when he pulled the trigger this time.

A catastrophic failure of epic proportion.

Naturally this stirs up some grief.

Or is it pity?

Perhaps this is a poem about pity.

* * *

Dig: Larceny and murder are still against the law but suicide is
just a bold way of speeding up the inevitable. In other words
don’t kill your lover when you can kill yourself instead.

But before you do, consider putting your dreams up for sale on
eBay. I would like to buy them and set them on fire. I would
like them to keep me warm when you are gone.

What else can I do? My grandiose ambitions have always been
set on love and sonance. (Arguably a catastrophic failure of
epic proportion in and of itself.)

Then again, most of us have only ever accomplished anything
because we were terrified we wouldn’t.

I don’t care about the stupid yoga mat.
It’s the irreplaceable items over which I shed my tears.
It’s the people that I memorize.

* * *

Cold comfort is an oxymoron.

I will live forever on your skin but my eyes have been swollen
too many times and I have nothing left to prove.

I already got a new yoga mat and lilacs grow wild in my
backyard but I do not know if you and I will meet again and
that pretty much sums up the ridiculous sadness of life.

Some people never learn.
I am not one of those people.

Maybe if I leave my pity in the backseat an intruder will steal
that too.

(Insert self-inflicted gunshot wound here.)

And then his brain splattered into a million little pieces
just like my heart.

I told you.

Some things happen before they begin.

MURDER BALLAD

Death is so much easier than love
and the only real way
to be set free

But my dear killer
I wish you’d looked me in the eye
as you dove the knife into my chest

I had imagined a more natural death
than to be slain by the one I love
with a cold electronic No

If only you hadn’t been so fickle
and I hadn’t been so unwavering
I would still be alive today

And though love and ghosts
can survive on wishful thinking
I’m afraid I could not

My heart looked like a mosaic when it broke
The fracturing and fissures my only source of light

Like any romance between a candle and a drop of rain
we made love as only fire and water can

But you will never be any greater
than the sum of your missed opportunities
until you stop missing them

And as for me?

My only mistake
was believing you when you said
you would never hurt me again

My only mistake
was loving you more
than you love yourself

With you I have felt the loneliest
With you I have felt the most alive

And so the refrain goes

Why did I have to be the lesson
that you refused to learn?

FUBAR

I gave my song to a scared and wounded soldier. He thought my song was a gun. He took my song to war and it was killed in battle. Now the weight of this defeat has penetrated the rules of my body. Penetration is the melody I lost. Your lips are the melody I hear in my sleep. Your lips would rather kiss a mouse than a butterfly. Aim higher. Like the songs that are written on your bones. The freedom songs. The redemption songs. Don’t tell me you’re not good enough. I have tasted the thoughts that live inside your mouth. I have traced the life in the lines of your shoulder blades. Let me press my hands to your temples and feel the rhythms. Yours and the ones that echo from your father’s drum. He is the master of this war. Taught you how to point your weapons at the ones who love you most. Stand back or I’ll shoot he says. Like father like son. Everything you want from him is everything I want from you. Funny how that happens. Underestimation is the opposite of penetration. Sound is the opposite of rejection. Remember you can choose your own legacy. Si vis amari, ama. Would it make it easier if I told you I know how you feel? It’s hard to keep fighting when all you want to do is sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the one who left you in the trenches. Singing changes the way you breathe. Breathing changes the way you feel. Fathers change the way you love. Fear changes the way you live. Living changes the way you penetrate the body. Penetrating the body changes the way you penetrate the soul. Going to war changes everything and when everything changes nothing survives unless both sides surrender. I offered to surrender everything to you. I laid my song at your feet. You thought my song was a gun. You took my song to war and it was killed in battle. Now I live differently in my body. I live differently in my soul. I sleep with a white flag in my hand. I dance with a bullet in my chest. I wait for this war to end. I wait for you to come home. I wait for a day that will never be born. I wait.


*

A REMARKABLY STRANGE AND MOVING POEM

To Begin:

Asleep in your arms, even if just a wish
I awoke to a letter from your father
sewn onto the pillowcase beside me

Please take care of my little boy, he wrote
especially when the days get shorter
and the leaves begin to die
He glows inwardly and you glow out
and together you illuminate my darkness

Under the Pale Shafts of the Moon:

I stashed the letter deep in your voice box
and could feel the whole world tense up
inside your chest

When I tried to take the letter back
I reached into your throat
and pulled out a river instead

I guess we better build a boat, you said

Upon Starting Construction:

I hammered your name in nails
across my chest

and noticed that the object you were building
looked more like a coffin than a boat

No matter, I thought,
both will carry us
both will float

On That Note:

Burying grief is like swallowing dynamite
after it’s already been lit

I would rather navigate a thousand storms
than ponder regret

I would rather drive for hours on the hottest day of the year
in a car without air conditioning
than not be the one who gets to pick you up

But now I am Digressing:

Emotional restraint is for anchormen and pilots

I type so I don’t explode

The point is:

I feel safe with tools in my hand
I feel free when I use my words

Now hear this:

I will never help you put nails in that coffin
not even if you tell me that we’re dead

In Conclusion:

The river is the fear.
We can sail above it.

The Dedication

This one is for you
They are all for you

Do I even have to say it?

These poems are not mine, they are yours
They are not to you, they are of you

Not only on this day but every day
Not only in this lifetime but in the next one too

These are not sentences, they are maps
They are not blindfolds, they are windows

They are not clouds, they are stones
They are not intentions, they are gifts

This one is for you
They are all for you

And I will never leave out
what I’m too afraid to say

Love redeems everything
I know this much is true

My song remains the same
and I sing it only for you

THERE ARE WORSE THINGS TO LIVE WITH

A.)

It only takes one
to ruin everything

one touch
trapped under my skin
one memory
caught in a jar
one stone
left unturned

and just like that
crash

On this afternoon and in this moment
I want to die

You heard me

I would rather die
than live with this


B.)

Kill me now, I said

for I swear on all that is holy
if the choices were only two
given to me by the gods:

"Live with this longing or
evaporate"

I would surely choose
to vanish like mist

I would choose death
over pain


C.)

There are worse things to live with than love, my friend sighed
but she doesn’t believe in ghosts or grilled cheese sandwiches
so her advice cannot be trusted

Please, I said
put an end to me

or promise that one day I will wake up
and he will be beside me again

otherwise I don’t think
I can outlive this love

not in this lifetime
not even in a galaxy far, far away


D.)

I stand at the top of the Headlands
and can see a dozen airplanes
waiting for their turn to land

My hands are on my chest
so that nothing falls out

My only comfort is in knowing
that all of these bridges
lead to you

I don’t think I can outlive this love

Harvester of Verbs

Listen up my master of patience
my sea of tranquility swimmer
my dream catcher in the rye
my wonderwall

I am not a butcher's daughter I am a falling star

A pirate who waited and waited
and still could not outwait you

Your mouth is as warm and luscious as a cup of French Roast
but my mother is a flower and my father a torch
and that makes for the most incredulous fire

Meet
Fall
Love
Desire
Reject
Bond
Asseverate
Chase
Connect
Hurt
Listen
Believe
Trigger
Torment
Fuck
Love
Avow
Abandon
Break
Cry
Need
Love
Run
Desire
Disappear
Amend
Annoy
Play
Continue
Love
Overcome
Crave
Laugh
Respect
Love

Our entire story can be told in verbs

My devotion to you in a song:

I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now

I want to be a pillow for you to rest your weary head
I want my insides to be the place that you call home

Before my grandmother married Zeus she was a blind sculptor
who taught me how to speak in caresses

Remember the time
I traced the bones of your face with my thumbs
memorizing the angles

Even with my eyes closed
I will always know
how beautiful you are