That Someday Purge

it’s been
quite a while
since i jammed
my fingers
down my throat,
nails scraping soft
tender tissues,
ripping them
into ragged
ribbons of

agony and sweet relief.

i really
don’t know
why i did that
all those years.
i cannot even
find the impulse,
the compulsion
to expiate myself
and purge me
of that void.

but now
i think
we live
in times
of cultural

and we
binge on self
purge in guilt
bathe in shame
call it freedom.

we’ll live
a life of
being not doing
or consuming

and our throats
will heal
and our song
will be sung


Walking Backwards Thru Snowy Fields

It was a bird’s eye view,
a bride’s eye view,
all in white inside those
clean inviting borders
and me suspended overhead
and anxious in the tale told below.1310a349f850dd15dcb03d256b5d490eI could see the tracks I left
there in your field, small
hot holes in the icy frosting
so beautiful, or buttons black
against that argent wedding cloth
in the pristine cold and dusky dim dark.

I felt shame in their
crooked, casual assumption
that anywhere inside the fence
was safe and I could wander freely.
I saw that my crooked beadwork
detracted from your day’s pure garment.Imagxxe 2But that is why I am here,
whispering down your chimney
in the voice of the wistful winter winds,
soft, mellow, sorrowful and sheepish
and urgent too!  Cus I never meant anything
but a blessing and admiration.tumblr_mykpg4C5Xs1s96knno1_1280I wanted you to know…
I walked backwards tonite
in my snowshoes and those
actually worn backwards
and as I stepped into the telling tracks
one by oneImdage 1they filled themselves in
and I took my birch branch
and waved it gently
across the surface
and thus erase any trace
that I had ever been there.

I shinnied over the fence
and up the roof, and I think
Ima stay here awhile, in this nook
on your roof next to your chimney
where the faint heat speaks of warmth
below and laughs within and a time and place
where all are home and all is well again.tumblr_mev5k5sQ7w1rgrk0bo1_500



i admit this is tough for me…
chewing it is like a steak that
aunt myrtle sacrificed on the
altar of cleanliness is next to “done-liness”.

and swallowing it?  HAH!
i always ask too much, expect too much
hope too much, believe things will work out
too much…and when that lump of
“not” gets stuck in my throat,

it grows hands topped with many fingers
tipped with sharp claws taught malevolent glee
and it jams itself sideways, stuck there in me
and declares “be ashamed!” “be nothing!”
or be both.

what i have overcome…what is that?
well, it is more like nugget, sweet and chewy
and promising substance, and then gone…
dissolved into nothing, just an aftertaste
torturing my longing heart.

but I am working on this.
I am gritting my teeth til my jaws ache.
I am saying I AM…subject, predicate “overcoming”.
I am drinking guilt by the glassful,
shame by the snifter and
terror by the teacup.

someday maybe it will be drained
to the last drop
and the ocean bottom will start to dry
at last there for the air to touch
and mess up its hair.

maybe…maybe then,
i will know being proud
of overcoming