orchestra

i've heard 

the percussion snaring 

up the years, a back

bone i thought. 

trum pets and trom

bones,  i've loved!

found your violin and 

given away my 

oboe, i've cried! 

but this body is 

not 

a bassoon. 

a piccolo. 

a french horn. 

i know in order for an orchestra to exist, 

performers must 

make love,

but i don't play any instruments

anchored choke

santa ana, i gave you

what lasting bits, i worked

so hard for-- and in 

return

you gave me a quiet 

room. can you at least tell me

that i will be ok, or do 

i have to say that, too?

i try to remember the extasy 

of having choice,

bellying laughter instead

off springing back & forth, 

as you said,

"the grayest of grays,"

has found you. 

terrain

learn not to be angry with the moon,
for keeping you awake.
learn to be grateful to him,
for keeping you away.

in dependence

"don't you dare drop a single tear, your tears don't work on me, if i see you drop. just one.---"

life is the softener when you wash your sheets, molding molecules to fiber in a sweet lavender, tumbling and tangled, gently bending the cotton for you to blanket. and here i am, for the first time in my life hearing my father give me permission, declaring, "arijana, cry so hard. cry. cry it out. say it out. cry over it. and then, arijana, then; laugh."