sandcastles

i was made not lasting.
show no photos,
no proof i was here
but proud work
satisfied with
ephemeral beauty.

a day where all the children
like to play聽bivouac
on the front lawn, full of
thoughts for guests,
for drinking,
for no one was home.
but they were already opened,
used and refilled many times.
little clusters of quartz crystals…

no, those aren’t my mother’s,
those are my own pictures on the walls
to remind me where i came from.
they tell my聽story,
the story of聽my family,
those children are my own children.
show me the rounds.
(how many…?)
it’s hard to remember school-time,
needed some extra help,
we were inhospitable at times.
(or was it?)

“how is your husband?”

oh, he is here.
he is well.
better.
walking.
what am i doing?
i have such a hard time remembering…

the man on the phone,
what was his name!
i called him something else,
i said, “maybe it starts with a g.”
did he say i was right,
or just getting close?
he said, “don’t you remember
you’re married and you have two boys?”
he was calling to tell me,
and i was still distracted, daydreaming.
i was in the city, enjoying the scenery,
i didn’t know where i was.
i didn’t own life.

yes, my job is that i am sensitive
to the energies that fill
the buildings and offices.
i work in what is my answer.
you didn’t say leave the money.
stay home, god.
he doesn’t care what other people think
of me when i am not love and loving.
i am not living.
i dreamed i bloomed.
i am not even planted.

gotten off course, angel.
need realignment.
healing and prayer is the core.
my body? well, the yoga and whole foods
keep coming back every time
i need to get this right.
shape up kind to my skin,
no-fillers-clean.
my house won’t worry
so much about decorating.

fall into place.
(sink back into the sand,
sit at the bottom of the ocean and see.)

focus your energies.

grown

suffocating
day by day
slowly, surely
into decay

oxygen leaks out
into ether
replaced by toxins
replenished by waste

the existential conundrums
as we hit fan blades
event horizons
in time-space

black holes,
our own egos
coming to pieces
at聽last

resistance is
relinquished
ripping atoms
in ecstasy

pushed over the edge
of the universal hotbed
we were birthed in
here –

– we are at Home
in this galaxy of lights
glistening at the
far ends of other

wormholes, warm and
whole, suckling at Mother
Milky Way’s breast and bawling,
“but, God! I’m the one

who tries too hard
because I don’t know how to be anything
but an authentic and sincere
sad son of a bitch”

how beautiful it is
to be cared for
and contented,
womb-like

nowhere to go
but to grow
up and out
and into this