always on the outside

the dishwasher blasted on, heat and water and sound…white noise and clean water jetting against the dishes until their bones were bleached, picked clean and dry.

in the kitchen, the sound of women laughing, easy-talking and including one another wafted thru the air, and reached back back back to me there, in the dish room…and outside.

always outside

there was one who used to talk to me a lot…but got too naked a view of the broken tumblage within me, the shards and jagged edges of my soul and the way that my emotions (amplified by brain trauma) are at times a runaway train with no options but the wall at the end and the carnage of the full speed collision…and so she pulled back…

way back so that she does not even greet me by name anymore.  just the casual nice-nice.

i brought it on myself, i guess.  i don’t have the cotillion dress manners and savoir faire…i am all “big-girl” hips and belly and shoulders and thighs and voice torn by testosterone and ruined…

they will never really know how outside i am, and how could they?  they have no clue there is a side known as out cus they are in.  always inside.

but i listened, savored, much like a peasant would look on from afar at revelries in the distant high castle, and felt good that there was happiness and joy in the world.

but i missed my quiet and solitary kitchbah turned loud and crowded kitchen…

and then i heard Mama whisper to me…it is the lowest place…the place of least honor…it is the loneliest place that She haunts, and it is there She takes up residence.

and so i embrace it, and hang on.

i give thanks that i am here…and can hear…and can bask in the glow of the bright suns around me.FB_IMG_1447349130732


Just Fit

so often i find
myself outside of walls
looking intently in
thru the windows and doors
at the tableau inside

i have my strings of lights
at the ready, plugged in
to the moon and the stars
and the songs of the night
and the love of the dawn

but I always find out
I am simply too big
to get inside the walls
with the rest of the ones
who just fit…who just fit


I sit here, like my robin there,
watching the geese overhead
in their socially aware V
pointing all together and chattering
in honking gasps of glory and gathering.

My robin looks up,
head cocked and eye a-glitter
and wonders what the hub bub is all about…
and also wonders why she sits,
alone and remaining
as the wind grows chill
and the sky grows grey
and the air grows still
as the more social birds
gather up and leave together
on soft grey southern wings.

Didn’t we used to all trill and honk
and tweet and cheep together?
And I came everyday eager to the yard,
to flit and look for bugs and worms and seeds…

but now?  As the leaves have left
and the geese are leaving
and the cats still lurk in black slashes
of slink and dash and calico camouflage
patterns against the browning grass?

I really don’t understand
this community thing
when I show up
everyday in the yard,
but worms taste
wriggly and gritty
without any company.

Maybe the high rock raptors
had it right all along,
maybe solitary unconfinement
was better than that
surface social refinement?

And then the robin
swells her breast with breath,
quivers behind her black bright eye,
and takes wing to fly,
and make her moves
around the growing absence
in the winter neighborhood waiting
until the spring once again
brings those members in the moment
noisy and social, and hell bent
on the seeds and bugs of the verdant yard.