Between Death

The peach and the strawberry
grow from the same branch
massive roots stretch toward
locked rain

the tips of the roots
scratch at the stone
picking the lock
to sip the nectar

red wheat bread
cheese baked by the warmth of the goat

a city sustained
by water that has never licked blood

A Rose

My rose was born from a broken place
where sand and stone rubbed its leaves bare
leaving skeletal arms to wave away the cold

Gray outlines the timid petal tips

Each time the rose would smile
gravel filled its crumpled face

The light of your face

Your eyes are a warm bubble bath
down my shivering back

cutting the heavy strap
that rubbed my shoulders raw

scattering the black
that crushed my vertebrae

The privileges of doubt

I place my cold hand under your arm.
My palm rolls back and forth over your ribs.
and my fingers fall in between them. A shiver
breaks out down your spine. Waves of heart beat
nudge my hand.

My finger circles the fresh scar in your side.

Devotion

My devotion
is not that big
just enough
for you to grip with
the skin of your teeth
and hold onto

The Base

I lay face down on the rock
pressing my jaw against the surface
rubbing my elbows raw as I burrow in

I lift my hand
a wind catches my palm
and peels my arm
and body from the rock

I hover above the surface
flexing my neck
pushing my weightless mass down

all my blood reaches for the boulder

my muscles flatten
and bleach dyes my blood
the wind sucks air from my lungs

Limp arms and legs fall on the rock

The Vial

I crack the vial and oil drips onto your feet
spices intoxicate the air and burn your eyes and mine

I let the tears catch your toenails and collect in pools
as I undo my hair and wash your feet with salt

My fingers massage the balm into each toe
and curve around your heel and arch

I run strands of hair between your toes
and wrap the oily curls around them

My lips swell with the salt and spices

Entry

I shut my eyes
and stare
at the apple
reflected on
raw flesh
behind my eyelids

Rose

They twist barbs around my rose
and gamble away the petals
leaving a naked bud

They plant my rose into the sand
and laugh as its thin body
falls back down and squirms for water

my rose lies in the cold sand
trying to wrap itself with torn leaves

I reach out my warm hand
but I can’t grasp it

black fingers creep from the earth
and strangle the rose
sucking its stiff body into the ground

The Proposal

You lead me up the Skull
a broken rock face
from where I can see
the field of oranges
and the city of white stone

you drop your knee into the gravel
and unfold your hand

I catch a glimmer of light
shining through your palm

you wait for the spark in my eye

I give you my hand
and you slide my finger through your palm

Mary

Orange spills across the sky.
She cradles her child
to a quivering song
underneath the cold-pressed
silhouette of an olive tree.

The melody clings to her heavy heart
as she struggles to give it away.

Startled by the cooing of doves
she drops the song.
Her limp hand reaches for the child,
whose tiny fingers grab her thumb
and squeeze for warmth.

A sword twists inside
as she cradles the fate of creation.

As a deer pants

Salt wells up in my eyes
the white begins to bleed
there is no river to ooze
the sting

apply the salve
spit into my eyes

My Affections

May the light of your face
warm my affections for Jesus

Tsunami me with your affections

May I be self-conscious of your affections

Tears

You blow on the ember
within my nose
the orange flashes sting

my eyes begin to sweat

Rats

Papa, the rats are out again.
Slit their eyes and sprain their necks.
Step on them with your big toe
and slowly squeeze their eyeballs out.
Roll their carcasses under
your sole, let them flop from side to side
as they try to stick their chipped fangs into
the bottom of your foot.

Guitar Lessons

…as I finger the guitar


A note drops into my stomach
I pluck at the hunger

The metal song echoes in my abyss

With each pull of the string
I draw up buckets of blackness
thirsty for living water

The Rock

My toes curl into the crack. I take half-breaths, keeping my chest flat against the cliff. Palms press up against a slim overhang as my pinky squirms for a hold. I struggle to straddle a boulder with the insides of my knees. I slip out a chuckle.

My shriveled lungs take an extended pull, tipping my toes out of the crack. My big toenail catches an edge and rips off. The pink skin under the nail skims down the dry rock.

My hands shred as I slide down the face

I grapple with the wall looking for something to embrace. Streaks of blood are left at each place of failed attempt. Chalk clots my wounds.

A limp foot slumps into a cleft. Powdered and cut up I try to balance. The jaw snaps off and my body smashes down the cliff as I try to get a grip on things.

Mount of Olives

An olive is twisted from a grapevine
and dropped into the winepress

naked toes burst the fruit–
juice laced with a drop of oil
bleeds out

the olive should know its place

crusty grape skins and a bruised pit
are scuffed from the press
and strewn down the mountainside

Smoke cures a thirsty wineskin
The pit is graved into the soil

his palm

I rake my fingernails
across his palm
feeling for that familiar crease

one by one
my fingers fall in
and I hold on

The Spark

Extinguish the fires of hell
that inflame my tongue

Place your coal to my lips

White Flame

My hand reaches for the white flame
that bounces on your face
fingers wrestle with the fire

my nails soften in the heat
and run down my palm
my fingertips liquefy and drip off

I grab your beard with my supple
faceless hand

my fingers solidify in the stubble
of your cheek

Thesis Pieces

Everything north of here is committed to pieces I am working on for my creative thesis.

Mary Christmas

Few things are as confusing as hearing "Merry Christmas!" after only a month in America, when you have an Italian-born daughter named Mary. The problem is, it kind of makes sense - you know, Christmas time, Mary and Joseph type of stuff.

Interesting to add, my sibling after Mary was Joseph. That gives 8 year old's something to laugh about during Christmas.

Gingerbread House

Last year, my sister-in-law and I started a tradition. We are less than a month away from repeating it. This tradition is tucked under the arm of a greater tradition. We spend Christmas at my brother's house with his in-laws. Also, my sister-in-law's brother (aka my brother's brother-in-law) and his wife come along with my cousin, who is married to my sister-in-law's sister (aka my brother's sister-in-law). I assume that this year my brother's father-in-law's sister, her husband and three children will come also. They just moved from Boston. The more the merrier. Merry Christmas!

Lake Geneva

Two deer dug their noses in the first snow as I walked up from the lake. Twisting their long necks up at me, they stared for a moment, then darted back into the forest.

To add to the mystery, a little later, a cat crossed in front of me as I stood at a widow. Pausing for a moment, the cat turned it's head, listened, and ran off. A second later, a fox the size of a coyote pranced past me.

Catharsis.