the sea is a metaphor

I.

The sea is a metaphor. You’re not the first

to fear your drowning, when hungry grief

washed in—not the first who lost her feet

to fall, head over heels, stomach whirled,

mouth full of salt. Not the first who couldn’t breathe,

who swallowed and swallowed, while the sea hurled

itself behind your teeth, grasping, all thirst

past your gulping throat. All sharks, all teeth:

You could not hold it in your belly.

                                    The sea is the sea.

You swam out, once, from the white sand beach

till the waves changed to a wide, wild mouth

swallowing and swallowing. Tumbled upside down

into a whirl of belly, bones, and teeth

drowned and spit out with shells on the white beach.

II.

If I drowned--if my soft body went to feed

the sea’s small creatures, tumbled my teeth

(jagged, bleached white for once) onto the beach

to be gathered like shells—

                                    To be palm-tossed

for futures, pressed into sandcastles, forgot—

Regathered (seagathered)--Fragment, I would not

recall eating (like any beast) enough

of the world’s live things--nor of the grief 

I broke my teeth on. No one dies of grief,

but if I drowned, would the hungry things say grace?

Gulped down, drowned, steadily unfleshed--

you’d remember my rough edges, my name

 salt-sharp behind your teeth. And I--

my softness swallowed, my bones washed--I

would not. 

April fool

I’m April’s fool, tumbled

wide eyed into violets

and velvet bees

 

when April’s full. Head

over heels, a beetle

burrowing, a bee

 

big as a thumb, pollen drunk

headfirst in silk

skirted blooms.

 

Fall into April, itch

behind your eyes and throat,

fragrant, busy.

 

Fumble full and buzz

from bloom to bloom,

to mushrooms

 

fruiting phallic, frogs 

chirp. World's turning flips,

purple, gold

jingling at the toes. I'm 

singing, unembarassed,

upside down

I’m April’s fool now, tumbled

as any beetle, any bee,

legs beckoning,

itching, pollen hoarse

raw eyed and tearful, 

I'll uncurl 

here, ramhorn coils unwinding

into an unprotected slug, 

so tender-soft

even the fat white grubs feel 

dear, the greedy babes.

I'm down

to earth now, peering, full 

(O fool) of

Love

 

 

 

like a stone in your throat

It feels like dying, this new life you gave,

this roughskinned seed of faith. I'm like a stone

caught in your throat. You said you'd save

sinners, not the righteous. Your name tastes

burned and bitter in my mouth.

You said you wouldn't leave us, here, alone.

 

Your blood's dried sticky, bitter on my teeth--

the hot salt lump of meat caught in my throat.

I gulp and choke. It's not meat my body needs,

not this raw gore. I wanted bread and wine.

You said this is my body: take and eat.

 

I take you into myself. My stomach turns

outside itself, revolts. I'd throw you up 

like the beast revolted Jonah onto the earth,

to preach your gospel to some shithole shanty town

poor enough to pray for your new birth.

 

I drink you like gold ash: precious, poison.

Crawl like a fly, tasting the burned dirt with my feet

to crystal streams, where praise warps into noise,

salt in my ears.

I hate it here.

 

I hate it here.

And you, still, say Come. Say,

Take and eat.

i dreamed i lay me down to sleep

I dreamed I lay me down to sleep

And did not rise again;

Whatever tears my lovers wept

They watered me like rain.

I was a garden, in my bed--

I melted into earth

While all the loves I ever had

Crawled through me like white worms,

And all the loves I ever loved

Sprang up, like seeds to sun,

Alive, unlost, though I forgot

Their names as I dissolved.

blessed

 Blessed are the poor in spirit

or maybe that's just the poor

i need more spirit, that's for sure

i don't feel blessed

i'm not the best

at love. Ineffective,

recursive. I sit

like slick

black grease. Greed,

or grief. I need

less of myself, more

spirit. Sipping spoons

of my own sins--no prophet, 

I meant 

to sing you songs, 

not this lament

of middle age

unwomanhood, ungrown

to fruitfulness, 

curling the same sour leaves.

Bees leave my flowers alone,

they don't taste sweet.

Escapist, weak willed, it's soap in my throat, 

acid bitter, acedia

medication

mental masturbation

shame's as good as any reason

to turn away from all this

shit--

Good God, the self pity

was bad enough at eight, at twelve, sixteen

At thirty it's obscene

as a newborn crowning, streaked

with chalky grease, red and white

helpless, sinless, hungry 

to gape for suck and wail.

Will you, God, mother us 

at your own breast

when we so streaked and shameless scream?

Will you, till we rest?

haiku stuff

 clouds, teased out and soft

against the sky, like cotton 

or white wool, unspooled

may days unwind warm,

unhurried. Promise summer, 

someday, soon

soon we will sweat and 

shine, heat greased and gleaming, flushed

pink, unfolding freckles

february's seeds

unfolded now, brown specks broken

into new green leaves

green, and more green. May 

breathes thick with it. Air crammed

with pollen and plant breath

always, the assault: 

no tender prickle at eye 

and throat, these seeds have teeth

red throat lizard, bright

red bird, roses unfolded

loose as cups, as clouds

some may days the blue 

blue sky

blooms with its loose, its tender clouds

heartbreak glassbreak

heartbreak, glass break

it's goddamn hard here

even when you're not alone

sweep up the pieces

guess i'm going on 

sharp edge glitter in the dustpan

blood slick in my hand

floor's sticky with spilled wine

how you doing sweetheart

one day i'll be doing fine

heartbreak, glass break

sweep it up the best you can

dump the pieces in the garbage

go rinse off your hand

how you doing sweetheart

we do the best we can