a ritual to start the work week
I can't help but misspeak my history,
miss uncomfortable subtexts
and gloss over little mysteries.
The sheen is a shield
that keeps my soft parts unprodded,
my daily trauma triggers unplucked.
Because once thrummed,
these strings can echo unchecked,
a minor wire sizzling with too much heat.
So stand before my upturned feet
to witness what their roughness reveals
about the smooth myths my two lips repeat.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
the mind flows
the body dams
hinder and drive
slipping and held
emotions billow
steam and downpour
the skin receives
the muscle seizes
the bone remembers
the brain jumps
conclusions fall
pool and wellspring
returned and fresh
freeze and seeping
the mind dams
the body flows
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Pull back the curtains, my bleary-eyed loves,
for morning's warmth awaits.
Peek through the blinds at first, if you must, but
know that your fear must melt
with the dripping icicles that slowly
release their grip and fall
shattering to their ends; it's best to throw
the window open, know
the swords that threaten you, to see their shine
so you may recognize
the lies they ask you to internalize.
Night may seek to lull you
into the comfort of the status quo.
But morning lets you watch
your cell bars tilt, fade and fall, mere shadows.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
scalpel's edge couldn't slice
the refracted sunrise
casting spectrum swatches
across my chest and arm,
couldn't remove orange
from red, purple from blue,
just as it fails to take
wick from flame, flame from smoke,
and curling smoke from air,
take one breath from the next,
take reflection from glass,
the mulling of new paths
from the choice to take them,
the front heel's push into
fresh sand from the back heel's
slow peel out of the past
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
our bones know
how to stack themselves
to stand
where to meet and slide
to step and sit
how to fit
when we need to hide
and unfurl
to cup our weight
our feet feel
each heave and sigh
each turn of the wheel
every curl
as our bellies toil
to unpack the world
into easy pieces
mere blocks to stack
to strengthen and flex
our shoulders decks
holding our heads above water
blades slicing down our backs
to hoist our sails
tails anchored
tucked under overflowing bowls
and rooted to sea floor
no anemone
all wiggle and flow
could know what secrets
our caged chests hold
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Sit with me, friends, 'neath Newton's mythic tree
to feel its roots reach below so deeply
as its arching branches soar high above.
Could there be any question of its love?
That in its balance, strength? In its strength, light?
That it shines as it shades and bends with might?
That in its quiet curves, its knots and bows
it answers all our queries, whys and hows?
Like how to keep on standing as storms rage
or why we fight the book but love the page.
Though its rough bark may wake us to life's pains,
its eager leaves protect us from the rains.
And when old forces push us to new lows,
sit with me, friends, to learn all that it knows.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Let breath move you, my loves,
step after aching step.
Let your sighs slip from your heel
to ease gently into your past,
as your toe reaches ahead
onto unknown sand.
Fill your lungs with possibility
that propels you forward,
weight spilling and spreading
across your wide, flat sole,
rooting you to your nowness
from this now to the next.
Let the black hole behind you,
forever spinning underneath,
pull apart the breath you leave behind,
the steps taken,
impressions made.
Let its endless churning devour
every step, each regret,
for new ground, fresh air awaits.
My loves, let breath move you.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Our crowns did not create us
but can change us if we let them
can blind us to our sameness
when we set them and forget them
bake a hard shell of privilege
to encase us and protect us
from paying for the damage
done to those who would reject us
for breaking every promise
made to change and to respect them
not to hold so tightly to
golden blindfolds and neglect them
for when our crowns inflate us
sum us up and then become us
the solid ground we stood on
quakes so they can take them from us.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Yes, yes, the horrors.
Yes, the waste. Yes, the pain.
Yes, the way we crumpled,
how we huddled, hurt and aged.
And yes, the heavens mocked us
as they watched us twist and torque,
tortured by their constance,
by their ease and by their work.
Yes, the way we gathered
only loosely, not quite close,
while the bluish lights before us
reflected copies of our homes.
But yes, our shared resilience
lets us rise and stand again.
Yes, our hope. Yes, our yearning.
Yes, our body, voice and pen.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Little bells sound far away
even held up to our ears.
Their tiny vibrations stretch
for miles before they reach us.
Steadily they ring, beckoning
our gaze, chin tilted curiously,
echoing in the valleys of our brain
like whispered miss yous in the wind.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
you know i love you even if
you puzzle over how and why
you know i love you even if
you let your horrors crowd you out
you know i love you even if
you cloud your sun and thunder when
you know my love surrounds you but
you can't yet bear to feel its glow
you know i know you love me and
you know you love you too although
you try to find a reason why
you shouldn't and i don't but no
you do you do you do you do
you do and i, i love you too
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
