Beauty waits



There is nothing ambiguous about loss

it fills the spaces left behind

a tenderness that registers the slightest wind

so vulnerable it stops breath from breathing

in sudden recognition of how hard it is

to fill space when empty

waking each day turned inside out


There is nothing ambiguous about loss

That sharp clacking of stone upon stone

leaving a path of shards

the hidden gravity that shades the color blue

Where memory seems more than skin

translucent but barnacled…

a legacy of the light of dead stars


There is nothing ambiguous about loss

it separates the cut edges

opening abrasions with graveled hands

where hearing is more sensitive than sight

as music evokes both acid and balm

and the heaviness of dreaming

is carried in weary flesh


There is nothing ambiguous about loss

I am ever present in its deep grain

comprising the growth rings

through which side branches grow

I have become something other than I was

something less something more

while separated from beauty


This seemingly inexhaustible thirst

redeemed in the breath of wildness

each inhalation responding

each exhalation my wordless prayer

In animal distress

I bend low at the stream

Silent, listening…. I drink


Photo credit:

It’s the women


They build sturdy houses


set too close together

Tactful queries like origami darts

traverse the narrow spaces


It’s the women

the older ones first

I bring them warm water

They look in their silk panties for one drop of blood. A sign?

I smell

only urine


My powder blue coat has stains from breakfast.

I remember when my sheets smelled like cheese

wrapped around my swollen breasts every time I dreamt

of my stolen child.


A mirror is still flat

even if

in it

I can see what is behind me.


I have left my face on the wall

no one can see my terror


It’s the women….the older ones first

I am young

I am nothing



It's the women