girls on the side of the road

To the girls left on the side road

that I cannot help

I cannot even pretend

to know how you feel

Smells like Christmas

It smells like Christmas in my kitchen,
smells like the time I stopped
in the heart of the house

right in the middle like a clot
not moving nor let anyone move
to make Christmas over cold stoves

here is a list of things you need for cake
that serves 6, realistically
even if you are on your own:

* peeled apples
* 3/4 sugar
* flour
* cinnamon
* nutmeg
* salt (to taste)

I stand on a flat corner
kneading the flour
needing a listening ear

I stand in the corner
in my house,
shaking like a belly dancer after a long show
cupping powdered sugar to an empty heart

Calamity

There is calm in calamity
the way there's a pip in an olive
lodged right in the middle,
felt at only when bitten into.

open questions to love

Is this punishment
that the way you move
impact my vision, love?

voice, women, faith

A woman's voice
moves mountains
so does faith

question on origin, once more

I have once asked earth
am I from you?
when I do not have dirt in my hair

it laughed,
all I could know is that
I don't not know for sure

where I descended from
an earth or a sky
or probably a bit of them both.

like your life is of no value

You point at an empty frame I haven't hung yet

asking 

what would an empty womb use it for?

too much excitement is not good for women

because the rational cannot compete with the tender 

because the excepted cannot grant way for those unable to beat misery 

with the back of their hands 

because like little glitter you cannot box smiles 

because there are things needed at the house 

because the washing up will stay unwashed 

the dishes dirty, the kids unfed

because it replaces the heart with a butterfly 

because it is not acceptable 

because it preludes to bad things 

because it requires energy 

too much excitement is not good for women.  

Eyes

Hazel, like warm honey
these are the eyes I was given to look
I sought: the sun, the reflection of leaves, sunsets

Blue, like the ocean
these were the eyes I looked into
he sought: ice, skies, dusk

it was a matter of where
the eyes fell, for with the same shape
we still see with different colored eyes

me, you and a birthday

like a betrayal
this day dawns again
when I had asked for complete darkness