Cause baby I'm like the moon
spinning around myself like twine;
and there's not enough room I'm afraid for the both of us
cause we are both big girls and take up a lot of our own space, so
tell me about this utopian vision you create?
cause girl, I wanna know what you look like in it?
You looming large like a mariachi, a grotesque fool
but you and I baby we know there's a fine line
between what we say and what we mean, how we look and how we feel, and what we want and what we need.
And this ain't it, this ain't it.

The other night walking home I realized that I'd never even seen your handwriting and that made my stomach lurch like ten thousand elevators. In this age of technological advancement if I mailed you a love letter it would become a snail and do people even handwrite anymore?

Easter

I won't retrace my steps for you.


Second guessing myself like the second coming of Christ,
your god-like figure looming large.

You must not think much of me.
To spew the way you do turning me into a 13 year old;
angst ridden poetry.

I will wipe my slate of you.



You must not think much of yourself.
Being your own antithesis.
This Easter while I hunt for eggs you will reenact the death of Christ.


What makes you think yourself God?

Pomegranates and Hand Grenades

I float above you your body a fairground,
my brandishing Jack-in-the-box.

I have always wanted to freeze time.
Suspended in the space between the last click on the roulette wheel and the moment just before.


High above you on a Ferris wheel I watch you drag her ghost around like some kind of prize, parading your grief like the shining trophy its become.

Your admonition fierce.

But if you wanted a pomegranate I would get you one.
I would even find the actual tree it grew on, pick out every little seed,
so you could feel them explode like hand grenades in your mouth.
And I would be jealous of there close proximity to you
while I sit in awe on the outside.

Creme Brulee

I have become very good at sabotaging dessert.

You might say I have a knack,
for stirring up what's better left untouched.
Breathtakingly bad choices.


But I am a lover of wide open spaces,









the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, the tender hollow at the base of your throat.

I feel like Amelia Earhart before her last flight.

Untitled

My nerves are turned on.
I hear them like the finest musical instruments.
You did this.
Pure genius at work.

I have pitted you like a date.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February,
and as real as a cast iron pot.

I have camped on many womens lives.
They are my providers, my visionaries, my muses.
An orphans muse.

You are naked and singular, the sum of yourself.
As for me I am like watercolor, I wash off.

But still I climb you like a monument.
Step by step.

I held this baby...

Yesterday, I held the most beautiful baby. She is six weeks old and perfect. She is very little only about six pounds and when I held her she was very tired so she curled into the concave of my chest and fit perfectly. It was bliss. I felt complete for a few moments. It was like she was meant to be right there at that very moment. I used to think that the urge to merge was a bunch of shit but now I'm not so sure. Something in my stomach kind of lurched in that moment and I don't know if it was because it was almost lunch time or because of where I am in my cycle but it woke something up. She really is perfect. Perfectly formed lips and nose and those little toes! And if you press on the sole of her foot she grips your fingers with her toes. ahh...

It strikes me as I'm writing this that just a while ago I wrote about my friends mom who passed away. The cycle completes itself. Its a spiral I suppose. And when I was holding her I whispered barely consciously; you'll have such a wonderful life. And at that moment I felt as though I would do anything to protect her.


Never get in the way of a mother and her cubs... She will rip you to shreds.

IWD...

Today is truly my favorite day of the year. The day where I celebrate all the women in my life and all those that have come before us to allow us to have what we do today. Some people celebrate Remembrance Day (okay celebrates a weird word) but for lack of a better one, I celebrate today. International Women's Day. For all the women who have fought for equality and justice and for those of us who continue the fight and for those who will pick up where we leave off this day is for you. I Thank you. I live in a better world because of you and I know that I am truly blessed. I have always been granted the gift of having amazing friends in my life. I know it is because I need you and this journey would not/could not be completed without you. Most of these friends happen to be women but for those of the other gender or those of no gender at all this day is for you too. So lets celebrate and continue the fight!!!

If you can spare a dime?

I learned today that a good friend of mine's mom died of cancer. It makes my stomach hurt. My love/light/and energy goes out to them and I would truly do anything to lessen there pain though I know there is really nothing I can do.

If you have a spare dime please donate to A Weekend to End Breast Cancer. I know that there are many worthy causes to donate too but it seems to me that this disease is taking beautiful lives and it makes me very sad. I am so sorry. I don't know what I would do if I lost my mom. So if you have a spare dime...

A little bit of Anne...

This is the key to it.
This is the key to everything.
Preciously.

I am worse than the gamekeepers children,
picking for dust and bread.
Here I am drumming up perfume.

It is not that I am cattle to be eaten.
It is not that I am some sort of street.
But your hands found me like an architect.

Later I measured my size against movie stars.
I didn't measure up.
Something between my shoulder blades was there. But never enough.

Ignorant of men I lay next to my sisters and rising out of the ashes I cried my sex will be transfixed!

So tell me anything but track me like a climber.
For here is the eye, here is the jewel, here is the excitement the nipple learns.

I am unbalanced- but I am not mad with snow. I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering...

I burn the way money burns.


Anne Sexton