mid-air mumbles

pause. sigh. go. hi.

before, I was 
the zodiac’s precocious 
bubbles.  glints in 
the eyes of five year olds watching 
summer skies, once upon 
a somewhere.  parents 
told their children to reach
for me when darkness 
came.  i made dreams come 
true.  i was 
eager, sure fingers; held 
breath; and weight lifted 
off shoulders.  i was morning 
rain in the desert and the 
long-awaited exhale.  i was 
everything the world sometimes 

i was the gooey 
center and the purple pez 
dispenser and the red clay 
under the swingset in 
Westwood.  a messy miracle 
of skinned knees and a brave 
cry to stand the Hell back 
up—the hope Mama had 
for redemption—the light she 
followed as she rose out 
of the ash.  a reminder—a bullet’s graze 
next to her left temple.  she 
was still here.  after two 
babies gasped back
into twilight—slipped through 
scorching metal back 
into the abyss of not quite 
here.  that’s where she found 
me.  i was a push to keep 
climbing—the little voice saying
“jump” and “harder” and “no—not yet.”  
i whispered sweet 
nothings of the 
saved—the lies 
of her childhood –that love is 
worth it—that it exists 
here in the wrinkles 
of age.  here—in this 
smithereen heart.  dig.

i am here, 
still.  I live 
on a graveyard and pay 
homage to your reflection—in my face.  I am 
your blue eyes and your gritted teeth.  I am 
failure.  I am good intentions and one last 
try and the only one left
standing.  here.  i am 
your daughter.  i get 
the Hell back up.  i dig.

and I find 
you everywhere.  i am 
gasping, and i am 
waiting.  and i need 
you, still, in this 
shrapnel world.  i am 
breathing inside held breath, 
and I am chasing 
hailstorms.  i am the phoenix 
in the gooey center—dispensing 
my heart and flinging 
it at Daddy—as he bowls
with God in Heaven.  i am 
reaching, still, because 
you can’t.

—AIM, 4/29/11

Posted at 11:11pm and tagged with: full width, poetry, poem, mama, photo, photography, denver, westwood, huston park, tree, spring,.

before, I was the zodiac’s precocious bubbles.  glints in the eyes of five year olds watching summer skies, once upon a somewhere.  parents told their children to reachfor me when darkness came.  i made dreams come true.  i was eager, sure fingers; held breath; and weight lifted off shoulders.  i was morning rain in the desert and the long-awaited exhale.  i was everything the world sometimes isn’t.  
i was the gooey center and the purple pez dispenser and the red clay under the swingset in Westwood.  a messy miracle of skinned knees and a brave cry to stand the Hell back up—the hope Mama had for redemption—the light she followed as she rose out of the ash.  a reminder—a bullet’s graze next to her left temple.  she was still here.  after two babies gasped backinto twilight—slipped through scorching metal back into the abyss of not quite here.  that’s where she found me.  i was a push to keep climbing—the little voice saying“jump” and “harder” and “no—not yet.”  i whispered sweet nothings of the saved—the lies of her childhood –that love is worth it—that it exists here in the wrinkles of age.  here—in this smithereen heart.  dig.
i am here, still.  I live on a graveyard and pay homage to your reflection—in my face.  I am your blue eyes and your gritted teeth.  I am failure.  I am good intentions and one last try and the only one leftstanding.  here.  i am your daughter.  i get the Hell back up.  i dig.
and I find you everywhere.  i am gasping, and i am waiting.  and i need you, still, in this shrapnel world.  i am breathing inside held breath, and I am chasing hailstorms.  i am the phoenix in the gooey center—dispensing my heart and flinging it at Daddy—as he bowlswith God in Heaven.  i am reaching, still, because you can’t.
—AIM, 4/29/11