Not to speak ill of our elders—
like Summers
like O’Hara
like King and Khan—
but have you tried
taking a sip of something hot
before raising your gaze
to your adversary and
pointing out the sharpness
of their tone
or
blinking once slowly and
eversoslightly tilting your head
like a confused dog wondering
how it could possibly be
that this motherlover doesn’t see
the wolf that sits before them
able at any moment to leap
teeth flashing
and tear out their jugular.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

build chords toward
a higher plane / hold
the line / level up / be
all / eat / prey / slay bae
live / pro / gress / ion / al

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

We hold our hopes so feverishly,
first the flush, then blanch of our fingers.
We forget their fragile bones. They crunch
in our fists—wee ribs puncturing lungs
that would breathe deep purples in our souls
if we let them grow. Loosen our grip
and we find their crumpled forms bounce back
like petals unfolding, wings unfurled,
buds and breasts refilling and readied
as our knuckles regain their color.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

Strength, they told me,
builds not from strain
itself but in
the breaks— 

a needed rest
to let the notes
linger—

the lion tamed.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

Neighbor, spare a spoon?
Whether king or key,
love knows no closed doors.
We all serve its grace,
cup our hands to pass
the warm bowl, ladle
and loaf. Care and crown
bowing before bare
cupboards and empty
hands, unlocking
them, filling the void
to open it further.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

Clouds may thicken
before they float,
those supposed shadows
that splash and flop
as the tides swap.
Sapped, like sheets made
blank again, or
a shared hatchet,
dull and rusty,
after the gush
and roll, their gray
lightens, sliced gold.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

belly and breast
begging for rest
for action and 
empathy for
doing and done
held in careful 
hands and let fly
into orbit
yellow powered 
by blue green lit 
up with red these
oppositions 
churn up the soul
stormy and whole

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

Trust, a gift easier given than found
in myself, I learned safety only in
your arms, calm in your care, belief in your
abilities, not my own. Not knowing
and not caring to self-soothe, I craved the
embrace that brought peace to my crowded mind;
your support saved me. Yet in the quiet
unique to that shared solace, trust found a
way to grow inside me: the tiny voice
of my heart learning to beat in spite of
being broken-winged. I found a new ease
in my embrace of you, a safety in
this knot we tied together to face the
world as one: a light to end my darkness.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

to love is to move

to carry the brimming cup
from far off pools
to share in their purity

to push against the forces
of infringement
to fight for comfort and ease

to dance with exuberance
flowing freely
to energize and express

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

the beat
the trail
the book
the tree

it burns
it thrums
it grows
it speaks 

in turn
in green
in all
in steps

to love
to love
to love
to love

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week

When the risks of our youth
make us wary and stiff,
look, my loves, to the children. 

When cuts that haven’t come
keep us callous and short-sighted,
look, my loves, to the children. 

When imaginary doom
isolates and paralyzes,
look, my loves, to the children. 

When loss hunches our shoulders
and pierces our spines,
look, my loves, to the children:

their open hands and open eyes,
their open arms and open chests
as they run, brazenly forward.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week