even before she gave me the stone
I wanted to write you a poem like the moon
the moon is big and beautiful
over a hill, it comes into view
yesterday I learned : whether or not the pain comes, I live in a vulnerable body
rocks live in moonlight
always a sliver and always an orange expanse
when there is sun in moon
me in you, you, you
you be the tidal pull, I’ll be the pool
I woke up at 3am last night;
Are hearts all connected?
Like how we think (or don’t) of the colony in our gut?
The almost knowing tingle, the unseen hand at my throat, that nauseous need to hug every last one of you. And from one of you to make another one of you.
Bad news makes me want to have babies.
To fill the world with a newborn love.
I want to buy a rag rug for your mother
Because I imagine
She’ll know the work of weaving
And I want to lay something beautiful at her feet
How big is world
This whole world an inconceivable ache and I am also a world stuck in the stuck of the tiny
I look up star struck
Magnificent bodies, broken
I really am Joan, starving Christian saint, set myself on fire
Or is it just that I finally watched The Hunger Games on Netflix
Deposits of self in self and all of it sacred
Individual earths and yeah, I do like to think of it as a whole functioning universe
A braid of time and am I allowed to talk about race and everything
I’m not afraid
Or I’m not that afraid
Tend to myself, to others, to opening
Like an owl to cock head and wonder whoooo
Now that I love you
I walk in the face of loss
Like a woman
We wake hungry with a crave through the depth of a bone. Wash a buttery bowl what looks fierce like a hat. Want it on head. Want a child for someone to know what it means to need to don a bowl.
Love a body so hard. Not abstract betterment. Just feeling better and being with the being bowled over of it.
Last night in my dream I was depressed again.
I dreamed I was in a production of some musical and we were going to perform at Madison Square Garden and all I could think was – we haven’t even run the full show in like two weeks?! We are going to get slammed by THE CRITICS.
There were dance routines and spacing issues and I was backstage and I was one of the leads and I thought – I can’t pull this off, so I tried to feel like Beyonce. I tried to feel like Beyonce feeling like Sasha Fierce.
I thought about (and this is not a dream) Ricki Lee Jones. On the radio, I heard some Ricki Lee Jones and thought – she will always be a lesser Joni. To whom will I be a lesser?
What a depressor.
Popsicle stick trick when playing doctor.
She looked in the mirror and thought - I can’t believe I was relaxed enough to let you fuck me in the ass like that.
a poem i wrote several years ago that everyone hates but me, reposting in response to this
Zeus in a Dream
when gods seek to copulate
they enter through dreams
this human need and requisite of modernity
I welcomed Zeus in this dream
strangely he was played by Jeff Bridges
a real man he taught me
the thing about humans and gods
the reason they get so frustrated fucking us
but Zeus came to me in this dream
held by a god or Jeff Bridges
I lost self in agitation and
Zeus saw this
me being body bound
Zeus with his hair
and that body of a man
knew even I was part god in vibration
The fishes the fishes and when I was a child it was awful, really, all that stinky fish fry, and my father, my Irish Catholic father, so like a child, also complaining of the reek of fish and never to try even the most basic, calamari. Once momma told him it was an onion ring. Tricked a grown man into eating.
Grandpa Jim would pull at his pants above the knees so the hems would dance and you could tell there used to be something scary in him and I loved him when he clicked his heels together when you weren’t expecting it and life was a carpeted coziness and even if he had been mean, well, he wasn’t now. Was he?
I worked at my preteen greed, lists of what I wanted, lists of what I got. Already pumping and unstoppable. And one early Christmas thinking – it doesn’t matter if I get anything, ever, because I never stop wanting.
Uncle Billy and Aunt Sharon gave me the same doctor’s kit two years in a row when I was three (and four, I think) I knew I shouldn’t be bothered and should be graceful about it but knitted my brow and thought – what?
Wearing pajamas all day in the morning. What dogs when? Grandma and Grandpa Vona here for a whole month it was the longest and best. Forget about my lumped in birthday (I tried to forget the lumped in part and just love the extended season but half a gift at my birthday and I’d spend ten days waiting for whatever was to become that set.).
Mike believed in Santa. Mike believes in Santa. In the s p I r I t of it.
When we were kids, before we disintegrated. But look at us know, all of us, a whole family mostly whole. Two whole fryers going in the kitchen. Lots of pop and sputter and we dance as if we could dance and pretend to be choral leaders, pumping our fists and hands, watching old movies as if our lives depended on it. Secreting chocolates (Dad pockets the mini Snickers I bought two bags for three dollars). He goes to REI Outfitters on Christmas Eve, every Christmas Eve, to stock up on our socks and an assortment of strange things we hopefully won’t need (like heat blankets and ponchos and pop up tents) and I wonder – is there some catastrophe coming that only he knows about? Is he preparing us for the worst? Every Christmas. In our stockings.
And they are hung there, we have the ones knit by somebody (Louis). I think I must have put them on my feet once one leg belonging to me another to my sister. These frazzlings. This medicated happy age. I watched Lincoln the other night with mom at the movies (we smuggled in “natural” chocolate covered peanuts ahem M&Ms) and thought – Sally Field could use some SSRI’s, n’est ce pas?
I offer to go to church with the anti-abortion beratement out front because I am a good Buddhist and I love my mother and I love how a tastes after you leave (not unpleasant wood smoke). Gawking over photographs, a Hollywood peopled by the glamour of grandparents. It took some engineering but we strung the paper lantern and it works like a charm. Extension cord, light bulb, wire spiral, something to glow our games of Banangrams, our coffees, my (third) glass of wine with two ice cubes.