I am not a fearless artist
I am not a fearless writer
I am not a fearless poet
I am not a fearless mother
I am a fearless friend
until you break my heart
I must wait
to become fearless again
this little guy was first created in purples back in 2007, since then we’ve become great pals and this past year we went clothes shopping;)
I was thinking this morning about how often I doubt my work and how important it is to be friends with yourself
so you can keep creating forward…thank you
walk ins welcome
read while gazing into a dirty vacant store window next to the pizza place.
shit I’m gettin’ old. gotta get my groove on before I’m ungrooveable or I forget how to cha cha (don’t wanna brag but back in disco days I had a kickass pelvic thrust).
so let’s get this going shall we.
you and me. okay, pretend I’m standing so close my breath is clouding your bathroom mirror.
we laugh. you’re nervous. I’m not – never am in these situations. shower steam has fogged up the whole damn room. I stare at your towel and say, “
let me walk inside you.”
You must know before answering, I’d pin that silly sign–walk ins welcome–to my face if I could style hair.
I can only grow it. Like everything else I do or get into, I grow overboard.
Hair is hitting my belt loops, the weight always pulling.
so I must ask you again,
will you allow me passage into your deepest darkest places…
(here we go now)
I want to wander down where you hide things from everyone but me
up and down, in, around and down slippery Sherpa
let me lay my curves across your lines
see my roads take you places
places I whisper in wet blue
us, that would be so nice
I’m excited for me
you won’t believe how reserved I can be out of my place
that place I don’t dare go as it tongue ties and pen paralyzes me bad
I like caves and clouds and I can get you there
I’d like to play with you in water too
when you let me in
I think you might just love me
a tiny bit only a tiny bit
it was too long before I loved myself completely
so much has been and maybe still is rehearsal for my heart
the role play if you let me in
I’ll whisper from inside your ear like a raindrop on a windowsill
I’ll say things like, “your soul is precious”
I wouldn’t say that
precious is a word I’d use to describe a smiling goldfish that can juggle knives
I’ll think of words just for you, don’t worry
please don’t get mad
after you love me just a bit only a bit
you must let me leave
I must move on
I must find others
who will love me too
(here I go now)
There is a pool I go to early Thursday mornings with my mom. The pool is crystal. He is a beautiful blue like my mother in moonlight. We swim, jogging across the earth only wetter. Millie wears funny goggles not as large as Snoopy’s but funny just the same. The blue lenses match the water and when she goes beneath the surface half her face disappears. We had to make a no laughing rule, because I swallow too much water. She thinks I’ll sink like a stone if I suck up the entire pool out of happiness. And Rita swims to the right on mornings Millie and I don’t get a proper lane to share, because the dude who can do twenty butterflies across the pool and the flip thing at the end of each lap (I think he’s showing off for us old gals) grabs a lane early as does the gorgeous, petite Asian woman with the flawless skin. Rita, I adore. She wears a white bathing cap with flowers like Esther Williams and when she smiles, I swear the flowers change color and grow a little. Water is kind to Rita. To all the ladies. He’s a charming fellow gently embracing their bodies. He grants them a weightlessness that time steals once they ascend those metal steps. He is the lover. We love him. How kind, the pain floats away for awhile. Every brash sound in the world seems to disappear when he whispers bubble mumble into our ears. So we all will keep at loving him. And he will always remember when they wore deep red lipstick and used their mouths well. Now, his formal rectangle with proper scrubbed edges tends and respects our lady-ness like back in that day, when gents tipped their fedoras and newsboy caps to beautiful Millie and flower-capped Rita.
These words were inspired today while early swimming with my beautiful mother in a crystal blue pool. I was reflecting on my new age of 53 (technically not 53 until May 20th;)) and thinking how I don’t care much (can’t say completely because that would be a lie) mostly because I’m blessed to have Millie and Billy for as long as I can keep them. I hope to enjoy every precious perfect and imperfect moment with my parents. Thank you.
The art was created last year – hey, it was either the mermaid or a fish:)