Looking Out the Window at the Moon

Looking Out the Window at the Moon


She said it had been while you slept that the moon and she were talking
But I know that she had been thinking what to say long before your eyes closed in sleep
In her heart you existed as prayer itself, there was nothing to separate you from the glow of the moon
There was nothing to ask for but everything
Offered to you on platters of platinum carried by hands gloved with the finest spun gold
Worthy to receive simply by virtue of existence.

I know that even though her song came later
The melody was already building itself in her heart and wrapping its tendrils around her soul
So tenderly that she never felt the tug of the roots pulling the vines deeper still
Nor did she feel—she barely noticed—the prick of the thorns that drew beads of red blood
Asking for protection for you the beloved
While sacrificing her own heart to be crucified on love’s behalf.

This is what love is
I thought to myself
This longing for the eternal perpetuity of the beloved
Ever captured as a rose in crystal lead
Never change
Never fade
Never go.

Peace Pipe

I smoked a peace pipe today, for you.

I squatted and inserted myself in the circle of those praying for peace.
I saw Native American young men waiting for the pipe
Saw Chinese women turning from the fields when the pipe was passed to them
I conjured a little girl looking for her delft hidden in the hillside, from a former life
Heard an old man laugh when he had exhaled and coughed
The tobacco was strong and he was not used to its burn as he inhaled.
I smoked a peace pipe
And thought of you.

I stood and hips creaking waited for the pain to subside
Thought of how many others had stood from squatting
To feel the same reminder of their age
Thought of how easily little children squat and rise
Bend and reach
Run and jump
Their bodies at ease in whatever state they are in.
Mine was that way once, I remember.
Yours must have been that way, too.

I thought of the trees moving with the wind
I heard the rustling corn in the field behind me
Yellow and dry, waiting to be mowed over and left
To return to the soil that had produced it
I thought of people travelling in airplanes the world over
Thought of people even now climbing into bed
On the other side of this world where night has fallen and it is time to end the day
Thought of others just now rising, day about to begin,
And I thought again of you.

I thought of atoms and molecules and time and space
Thought of how the air now moving
The wind now blowing
Mysterious effect of this world
Must have been, only moments before,
Elsewhere.
Thought of how the air I breathed
Had been air breathed by others
Long ago,
Not just my children, squatting down themselves,
Rising up themselves,
But generations from history
Breathing that special combination of chemicals that
Feel so good and so right
In our lungs.
Air that is blowing even now
Toward you, and you will breathe it, too.

I prayed for peace
For you
I prayed for love
For you
I prayed for protection
For you
To be kept safe while the storm
Rages all around.
I thought of prayer and how it is
A mystery like the wind.
I do not know from whence it comes
I do not know where I send it.
I know this:
I thought of you.

I smoked a peace pipe
For you today.

Getting Through The Pain

The sadness was so deep
The grief and loss
So tremendous
That I did not know
If I would survive.

I was walking through a room; I see myself
Even now, suddenly aware
Shockingly realizing
That I longed to bring you back
To fill the empty places.

In my dream I had patted
Ronald Reagan on the back, said, “How’re you doing?” as I passed behind him where he sat at a dinner,
Dove down deep to fasten the shiny metal plug of a swimming pool filled with hot water,
Piled leftover candy in boxes and helped clean up after a well-attended women’s event,
Got my (younger/different than actual) daughter’s ipod and switched if off for good, so that she would sleep.

And then I suddenly remembered I had
Forgotten to apply for schools and the deadline was about to pass,
And I needed to do it right away but was not at all sure if
I had the necessary requirements anymore.
I felt lost, alone, afraid.

And finally, I was walking through a room not knowing
How I would survive the loss of what I had known.
I did not know any way to
End the interminable grief,
The emptiness of having no one.

What I remember thinking is that
I had done it once before,
Had found a way to go on,
But this time, the pain was
Life-threatening, unbearably raw.

As I walked, I was also my observer
(I see that now);
The pain was so intense that I probably should have been
Crawling through the room, pulling myself by grasping fingers,
My body a word picture of the interior me.

Perhaps I woke myself as
A saving measure.
Perhaps your phone call
Came at just the right time,
And I woke to see, it was only a dream after all.

Your phone call that I answered,
Remembered it had been over
For quite some time already, you had been gone for ages,
And I was no longer in raw pain
Trying to figure out how to survive.

How to Make a Closed Room Disappear

I am watching
Me
To see if I might
Be able to
Discover
The secret
Of how to open new
Doors
(good doors,
doors that lead to
freedom and light)
And close off
Others so that
The rooms behind them
Finally fall off cliffs
And vanish
Forever
In the abyss
I would not
Resurrect them
I would not see them
Ever again or
Remember them
I would rather have them
Gone like that
Than sticking around
Ridiculing my efforts
Mocking me
Tempting me
Calling me
Pulling me as a magnet
Draws iron filings
Hand outstretched
Reaching for the knob
In a tractor beam
From space
Toward that one
Hated end
Sworn enemy of
My future
This
Forbidden by myself
Now watching myself
Bid me open the
Doors I had barred
Boarded
Locked
Walked away from
Painted shut
Covered with drywall
Hung tapestries over
Pushed furniture up against
Pretended were not there
Said I am through
And I need not open you
Again
Only to pry off boards
Search for old keys
Turned back to like Lot’s wife
Scraped off paint
Punched holes with fists
Yanked down pastorals
Shoved armoires aside
Could not stop myself
From entering once again
Walking inside
Finding historical misery
And the vortex that
Went down
Down
Down
And
down

kiana at the door

sunlight streams
across pretend grain
as if someone
once planed
that wood by hand
pink of her shirt
now colors
sunlight
rosy red

I Found Myself

When I said that
I had found myself
You thought I meant
I discovered who I was
Finally
And happily
After all this time
What you didn’t understand
Was that
When I said that
I had found myself
I meant that
I stumbled upon myself
(almost tripped over myself actually)
Lying on the floor
Undone
Once again
With not knowing
Anything
Anymore
I sometimes fool myself
Into thinking that
This is all a lesson and
If I learn what I am
Supposed to
It will all unfold just
Right
But the more I
Thought about that
Today the more I
Realized that the only lesson
That seems to
Really
Be there is this:
Welcome to your life

Claude Rains Appeared Briefly

Although I have not traveled as much as I would have liked
and although I do hope to change that
for as long as I have left here on Planet Earth
I will confess, nonetheless, that I have been
to hell and back.


It was not a lovely trip;
I did not put stickers on my suitcase.
I traveled lightly, in fact,
wearing the sheerest of souls
and good shoes.


Lucky for me, there had been no inkling
of the years I would languish in
such a desolate and miserable place.
Lucky me to have not been forewarned
or I may never have gone at all.


A trip to hell and back is a great
conversation topic at cocktail parties.
People will flock to you, drinks in hand,
while you offer them a vicarious voyage
punctuated by hors d’oeuvres and laughter.

Asshole

To tell the truth
he said
I’m really not that into you.

I wondered what the hell he’d
been telling
when he had said that he was.