reply (v).

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The answer will come,
I know this as truth, though
it  may come not in the way
you have requested and
appealed to the gods.

Answers come sometimes
in the form of thunder,
announcing boldly their
stance. They come also as
a weary traveller, long away
and awaited, kicking off
dusty boots and shuffling
slowly up the stairs.

Answers come with trumpets
and choirs or with
the softest whispers at
the lowest frequencies -
sometimes they need us
to lean in closer and quiet down.

Right now you will find me
with lights off and altar made,
feet bare, kneeling on the floor,
hand to chest and heart attuned,
and even this: breath held,
ears to the west, listening and
postured for the answer,
when it is ready to reveal itself.

recurring (adj).

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My dreams are stories about
the wildness in you, and your
heady gaze. I dream
about they way
people talk about you, 
and often I have
the dream where you
list off to me what you
think are your faults. I dream
often about
your hand, almost
touching my hand, your
morning, almost
starting with my morning.

manual (n).

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Regarding the care of an aching heart:

Be unrelentingly gentle with yourself.
Wade into sweet pools of grace abounding.
Be soft with the way you bandage
your wounds (include ample amounts
of breath and expanse).
Bellow all you need, even
in soggy, ragged sobs. 

Take harbour in the wonder
that you partook in the
sacred, delicate act of
loving another being.  

components (n).

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I so wish dearly to be made
of wit or grandeur or
stories that inspire,
it would be nice also
to be impressive, just once,
or at least tidy; it would be nice
to be a person that people
knew what to make of.

It would be more convenient if
I wasn’t just made of
flowers upon flowers, spilling
out of my chest and
onto the floor,
onto our feet,
even while standing,
so many of us,
in your kitchen.

cog (n).

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What great mystery that
I was given these words, and not others,
and in this order, and from this
voice, in this tone.
 

What strange passage that
I must find the way to say it,
the words that will fall
from my rolling mind and
tumbling heart.

What an odd happening that
I would spend the whole morning
in stillness and silence to
find some way to point out the
wandering of the world.

unrepentant (adj).

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Who is the woman I am becoming
and when will I become
a woman who does not apologize
(so much), that is,
a woman who does not apologize
(ever) when she is not in the wrong.

I want to be a woman who refuses
to smile and take it
when it is not something
that I care to take. 

I want to be a woman who is not afraid
to take up space and
make room for others at the table –
and stage, and up, up the ladder and
into the open field and wild sea.

sector (n).

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Our hearts have chambers,
as if the creator knew
we couldn’t take it
all at once,
so much of life arriving and
leaving at
any given time.

Delight and sorrow both,
they are too much and too
substantive to not have
some way of filtering them
into bouts and waves.

I can only take in small increments
the great mystery that
brought us together.

I can only take in small increments
the simple fact that
we sleep in different rooms.

outset (n).

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Remember who we were
when this first started
when my hair was short and you
didn’t want to like the city?

In those first days we spent hours
sizing each other up and
holding ourselves in -
I kept most of everything to myself
and still
felt like I was flooding you, you were
a fortress, air tight, no clues
to the matters of your heart except
maybe
in the gentle way you sat next to me.

Remember when, it was spring,
you walked me home and I
didn’t know that this was you
opening your door to me,
that this was us
falling in love, walking a flat tired bike
down Palmerston in June.

discern (v).

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My heart is a child
mid-tantrum, thrashing on the ground.

How do I soothe you?
How can I gather you up?
What can I bring you
to let you know
that you are loved?

What are you saying
with your tears and bellowing?
I want to listen, or do you
need to just let it all out?

It is okay, it’s fine with me
if you need to just let it all out.

architecture (n).

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You brought over brick and mortar
so slowly that I didn’t notice
in the hours between night and morning
you were making for me a home
in the softest part of you. Slowly you
brought over stone and slate
and built for us a landing place
while I lay sleeping or while
I was running late or while I took
time in the burrows of my mind. 

You brought over clay and solid beams
and made for us a shelter, complete
with a skylight to let the
stars and the morning in.
 

revolt (n).

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I am not done grieving
that I woke up in a country
I do not recognize when
I brought to their altar
my story of betrayal
and they told me
to go home.

I am not done grieving
all of the women who have
raised me and held me up
that have come with their
stories, who have come with
their aching hearts patched
in various ways, we are talking
generations of women
gathering with the same story
and the same sorrow.

I am not done grieving and
I want to feel
so many other things like
the glow of the morning and
the warmth of my lover and
words spilling out of my chest and
the tender nonsense of children.

I am not done grieving so
every word I can create
is a protest against
letting this be the
thing that ends me,
hardens me,
makes me silent.

analysis (n).

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I am learning your features, the angle
at which you hold your chin, the slant
of your mouth when you are thinking, 
the slant of your mouth when
you are holding back, the slant
of your mouth when
you might mention
a story from boyhood. 

I am learning your preferences, the process
of your coffee making, the place
where your dishes belong on the shelf, 
the place in your room where I may leave
a hint of my belongings, the place
in your room where, I've noticed, 
you've kept the notes I have written. 

I am learning your rituals, your morning
unlike my morning, all clanging and loud, the reliable
technique used for folding, the reliable
method used when you cook, the reliable
way in which you take your hands
to my face to bring me
into your ritual and space.
 

Posted on November 30, 2017 and filed under the word project-.