National Poetry Month - Day 17

I enter the house of Saturn
running again from the return of the sun
I test her structures, sturdy yet unstable-
this is not a home for permanence
it is a home made of sticks, or straw; waiting
watching big bad wolves huffing and puffing at my heels

you've never been able to blow me away

Saturn writes love letters on wolves' breath
she wants to change my existence,
earthquake the value I've placed on this life
the motivation I've placed on my feet
she thrives on upheaval and her house is already a half-mess

I can't stay here forever...

I'm barely making it through today
limped my way through yesterday
running from the sun who's always three steps ahead of me
into the waiting arms of Saturn, who returned too, a lover...

photo courtesy of NASA

Happy Birthday to Me!

Wish You Were…

For S.W.


Imagine you had the guts to be me
your heartbeat as deep as your breath
be a woman, unsexed
sexualized to nonexistence
tarred angel wings, tilted halo
devour green apples

share the pieces with your lover
like the rib she was accidentally made from
swim through her hair
call her by name

brand yourself
allow others to brand you
limp through it, pass the pain, until the swelling goes down

the virus will never go away

wake up every morning knowing
and choose to live anyways.