As Mother – NaPoWriMo 2022 Day 9

When you called my name, I rose – jumped up

during toddler years, ever at

the ready. My heart still leaps

with every summons – bound

o’er distance and time –

to the child still

gently held

inside

you.

Sanhaim

Sanhaim

do leaves mourn their neighbors
as passions flame out?
pine o’er skeletal plummet
scarlet breathes last to rust
crumbled to prickly dust

or do they celebrate leafy passings?
dance a fluttering jig
as they scuttle limb
flutter earthward fancy
meet crunching destiny

I hear matrilineal whispers
rising amongst wooded footfalls
each rustle communes 
‘twixt my soul and revenants’

do autumnal spirits howl
as harvest shrivels to husks?
bay as mooning coyotes
writhe anguished in fields
barren, stripped of yield 

or mark they these endings
in ecstatic ululations?
cavort, wild and free
circle ends with begins
lament not the cyclic spin

my foremothers caress
hollows of my provenance
brisk autumn breezing
‘tween now and yesteryears

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Of Grief and Cases

there was an offer to help unpack your griefcase

as you journeyed from the dark side of the moon

you stepped inside the circle, oft assuaging

while ghouls whispered ill, of o’er containment

we wrestled with buckles of fiery quicksand

as sequestered skeletons rattl’d moldering bones

we offered cleansing for aged, festering wounds

/suppuration clung, cobwebbing logical thought/

patterns wrest from faded ledgers

we edit in the cold light of day

your demons reigned in the gloaming

cajoling, glib with their forked tongues

my pores weep for all the losses

I taste the salt poured in your open wounds

Drips of Herstory

what say you? vines of my past

did you suckle the honey

from my kin

as they buzzed past you

oblivious

to how you rooted your scent

deep in my veins, the summer yellow

of childhood abandon

                                                                                                                                          I was dropped from a black hole

part hurt fledgling – wild thing

bird of swift wing

part hothouse flower – wilting

salt crystalized in Death Valley

I am square peg in round hole

oft too dense of emotion

I vision my foremothers

stern and stout skirted

breaking ground and convention

setting down roots

of farm and family

twining their dreams

with my memories, sepia’d

                                I fit not well in the world, betimes

my spitfire tenacity ruffles

too many feathers while

my soft underbelly

is ripped raw from the teeth

of daily indignities

could they vision me?

those stalwart matriarchs

perseverance personified

who faltered not

from motherland to new world.

I trace our bloodlines

in the scars on my psyche

in moments, I imagine myself

unwelcome

 as an overly plump raindrop

plunking cold and abrupt

on a spring sunned bosom

joined apace in feigned ennui

perhaps we are all cicadas

screaming at seventeen years

invisibility

cramming all the living we can

into each moment amongst the leaves

we shed our shells

in search of beauty

gather independence

cling to the trunks of our past

securing center

and soar

 with our kin

Conflagration

Huracan and Hephaestus roar

spew forth their fury

remonstrating rage

reminiscent of days of yore

repercussions blaze

at the injustice

                        at the arrogance

at the almighty ignorance

tree nymphs and spirits shrivel

innocence sacrificed

                        martyred

to the selfish consummation

casualties of the self-absorbed

they wither into ash

                        raining needless deaths

in black pre-emptive night

Helios and Eos grieve

this demonic devastation

                        the unholy alchemy

of incessant power and greed

Places

I was dropped from a black hole

part hurt fledgling

Wild Thing

bird of swift wing

part hothouse flower

wilting

neglected

in the desert

 

I am square peg

in round hole

way too dense

of emotion

 

I do not fit well

in the world

 

my spitfire tenacity

ruffles too many feathers

while my soft underbelly

is ripped raw

from the teeth of daily

indignities

 

unwelcome

as an overly plump raindrop

plunking cold and abrupt

on a spring sunned bosom

it slides anfractuous

joined apace in feigned ennui

Introvert in Red

there is a snort wrapped in your chortle

devaluing scoff of disbelief

prickling through trappings of merriment

find humor at my blush-ed expense

 

you heave invalidating skepticism

splashes of frigid indigo

ice my vulnerable disclosure

impromptu orchid proffering

 

you have colored me strident scarlet

as I retreat not from weighty debate

and stand toe to toe with any challenge

in my hollow of hallowed ground

 

I carry off vermillion verisimilitude

in tones more assured than dulcet

take the measure of men of stature

shrink violet from no deliberation

 

my soul is lilting lavender

clad as a rubied warrior

wilts exhausted in social commerce

blooms fragrant is solitude’s sun

 

you vision me caricatured cerise

pushing envelopes and limits

while I crave the blessed relief

of a meadowed azure retreat

Mood, Moonlit

I sowed the seeds of my own destruction

coated in the guise of a mother tongue

while the drizzle of doom

soft and silent

drips

drops

/my sibilant sis/

 

I ate from the cap of the amanita

scarlet brooding senorita

swooned to the tune

of a glass-looked fall

spat the spores

/blood admonition/

 

I dabbled in a dab of diablerie

swaddled as I was with faux coterie

dawdled long among tip-toed tulips

placed dibs on the crux of wizardry

 

I raise my glass

chipped, half-empty

toast with the devil

/wed moonlight/

Fall of the Fallen

I crunch

on the swath

of crisp cool air

that cuts

chilled and invigorating

through the swamp of my despair.

 

dust of leaves

coat my tongue

as I masticate

crow pie

long past

it’s sell-by date

 

I spit

 

breathe

the oak floating

reminders

 

humid cling of miasma

is not the haven

it self-proclaims

Assaulted

you were pushed from behind

 

I heard in the breathless notch

in your measured words

that catch

in your voice

the tremulous quaver

in your understated stand

 

I have felt those hands

(haven’t we all)

one knife-wielding

– in word or deed –

while the other lays claim

with eyes or clammy paws

to my plush backside

you are the embodiment

of cultured terror apparent

the carbon dated anguish

etched on your skin

your pain quivers

on articulated tips

of your educated tongue

 

I jump sky high

elbow cocked in self- defense

it fades yet never ebbs

that stretched rubber band

that inhabits cells

twangs unbidden

and we sproing!

he tantrums

spews vile rhetoric

wields his power

his privilege

in ways she would burn

at stake

were she dare give voice

were she to cry crododile

her ovaries would fry

ahhh those tantrums

we choke down

swallow hot with rancid bile

those that would label

rabid bitch

raving psycho

 

because well behaved women

may bare our ankles

here in 2018

shoulders even (Oh my!)

but we step NOT

upon the tender toes

of fragile male privilege

under pain of recompense