this flesh, like a leaf

A strip down
like a leaf left over
like meat, this flesh

Pumpkins carvings

Tastes like a potato
this pumpkin
carved with a strong arm

an iron fist
that knows how to manage
a kitchen and three children

Chores

The pan's lifted out of the fire
no burnt, the food filling stomachs

the sheets dry with the tinge
of the sweat that lined them for days

the boots all sparkling clear
of the dusk walked over in the streets

there is so much order in the house
where does this silence come from, then?

wearing pain in a disguise

Three blows and a pinch
on the cheek

you still think
your hand is kind

wearing pain in a disguise

Mission completed

The harsh hand
on your chest, closing in

like an end
it calls onto your senses

love is another way to showcase
violence

package it differently
with roses and determination

wills and vows to change
this is a new mission for you

with that harsh hand
a mission completed

wrapped on a delicate throat.

other versions of a nightmare

I had a dream in  which  you died
when I opened my eyes
you screamed at me

Grandpa on the chair

Like a guard lion I sit
near the window that looks out
you sit before me on the street
holding all the dignity in the crook of your arms

little fingers over the pedals and you roll
into the direction that goes outward
there are chairs that have been made for us
to wear them even if they fall upon us

but he was steady, the mark of youth
sitting directly like a carried gift
a boy in your lap, yellow haired
smiling as you carried him

like a vessel sailing toward the sea
you move swiftly enchantment
against a wind that rejects your bones
this is the love of a grandparent, it lifts outside of the waves.

demanding parentage

Hard as stone
her demands, I complain to the wind
it hears me back with a song
she's your mother, isn't she? 

an awkward second

Are we related?
the question comes up
as the waffle gets colder

a nightmare of hallucination

There's a jaguar that follows your son
into a mouse hole, same available in cartoon
but you are real, flesh and blood in my arms

there's a daughter holding a teddy bear
crying about unborn children
yet she's unmarried

there's you, Kohl filled eyes
brown like pine cones
caressed and written for, for years

there's a moment of fear and love
wrapped like a blanket at once
like it's a thing we cannot deny

existing in the midst of all unexplained
switches, trees swishing over in seconds
transported into another space

that has no bitterness
you are real, flesh and blood in my arms
the jaguar gallops
your son goes into the mouse hole and wildly I wake up.

with driftwood

We drift, each talking at a higher wavelength
call this another form of love
I call it another form of painting with blood
we call this a family swayed with driftwood

human formation

today I saw with my own eyes
how a human is formed

tiny dot, black in a black space
that falls into a void

tiny dot in a black sack
will arrive with a stork

when we stop waiting.

Reputation to uphold

this is what is said about reputation
it has to be upheld
like a coin into the sunshine

Motherhood

I damned this motherhood
the time I saw you in my arms
lifeless, even in a dream

another anniversary for the ones gone

for T, twenty years onward 

Soft blue eyes,
pale to the understanding

a little girl
with her hand in yours

jumping over a moving stream
picking up the clothes for toys

because she would not have know
motherhood then, like she does now

soft blue eyes
never letting her cry

because tears are made with our most precious
pain, that reverberates

when she thinks of you
away from your city

your old bones now,
tired to the call of a voice

tender to the fact that you
her protection is the first true father

she's ever had.

the tongue in you

Your language gives me a boulder on the shoulder
breaks my arms
but I have to learn to speak with you like I would
an indentation in the silence

one arrives, one departs

On the gateway,
in the same hour, like swallows my friends
one arrives, one departs from my hands.

the things we talk about when we joke about alzheimers

Here is another way to tell you about a disaster
that has been conducive by age, numerals and numbers
you are losing brain cells

you mistrust
your hands to find the correct light-switch
or recall with the same intensity how to tie your shoes

there's space for spots
in your eyes
at times they fail to direct you right and left

but they direct you
to the time you were seven years old
when there were soldiers and a black bag

why black? your daughter will never know
this is a secret locked in your brain alone
unreachable

you will recall with clarity
a day that is received with
tears of joy

we joke now
about the times of washing machines
brimming with two-day washed clothes

we laugh at poor
eyes, that don't see in the dark
but we forget too, that this was once life.

read your book, without hurt

You read the scripture that states
"never hurt your brother"
to clear your mind out

oblivious to the fact that there is a knife
you stabbed in his back
without duly noting

what you say can and will be used
to turn your story around
to the direction no one had wanted

to begin with, start again
where you left off,
a knife dug deep deftly

not to remove things you planted
without hurt
that is bridged over

like an end of a disaster
or a destiny carved in bones
this is how you treat failure

an instance of regret
is a moment that will fleetingly
pass, like everything does

you read the Scripture
with a clean conscience
don't then hurt your brother.

taking a step forward

lead me not behind your steps into

the realm of your opinions

or ones I made on my own

allow me experience to judge the lesser

between the two evils.