An ask. A thank you.

  1. An incantation, a prayer, an ask.
  2. A thank you.

1. I ask for knowledge from the deep. Not just the deep, but the depths where I can’t reach, of my time here, my so-called footprints, of which I have purposely left none, yet many silently remain. I want deep connections, under soil. out of sight from the naked eye. Invisible communication.

An intergenerational mycelium network of dreams and experience, of stories that were forgotten to be told. Stories that may be of little importance to you, that one day may speak something, may call out some answer that’s been searching for me- for my son- for my sister-for the forgotten stories to be finished, to be heard through photographs and sewn together memories, with finely crafted holes like lace curtains, or the change left behind in the cracks of chairs after the owner is gone, small things like the smell of molasses or the smell of rum. The way we used to talk and how people often share their depth, their deep when you least expect it, when you’re often too young to fully understand or appreciate. But it sticks to you, like that sweet molasses, like stains of grass to your summer legs. These are the depths I mean. I want this. I ask for more of this please.

I don’t ask questions of deities, don’t clasp my hands or beg for forgiveness or mercy. I have a percentage of faith, i just can’t and don’t feel the need to name it. Some say atheist. I’m just not a hunter or gatherer of worship. It seems as though I learn exactly what I need, albeit often the hard way, but life has never been easy. It just doesn’t work that way. So I won’t ask for peace, or good health, because these things are by law of nature, only temporary. Life doesn’t work that way. Isn’t it beautiful and terrifying? Blissful and tragic? And somewhere between lies the magic itself.

When I ask for deep and depth I mean… remember that time when I was 8? Circa 1985? It was summer on the Cape. On the beach after a raucous electric storm had woken me half the night. The sea called me that morning. It was gray and wet, an ominous, cold day.

I climbed over wet dunes with winds still humming through the sea grass and stepped onto the beach. The Atlantic had washed ashore treasure from the deep. From depths I could never dare to swim. Creatures I had only seen behind glass. The beautiful and the terrifying. Deep like this.

The price for release from the sea was death. Secret, beautiful death along the beach. It may have been the first time I realized what irony meant. So surreal, the happiness at getting to be so close with these creatures and knowing the violent death they must have died, drowning in thin air, too much oxygen.

I found a stick and walked over to a manta ray that had found its resting place near the base of the sea wall. I half hoped it would be living so i could push it back to the sea. The stick broke under the weight of its fin-like wing. I wandered through pools of refugee jellyfish waiting for the tide to take them home, studying them with desperate fascination, picking up horseshoe crabs and sea stars, washed up, empty homes of shellfish. These were gifts or ghosts or messages from the deep. From the depths I could never reach.

This is the type of depth I seek.

2. A thank you.

A thank you for endless curiosity. For the everlasting quench to know more and explore and seek new things. Thank you for chances to be wrong and to learn from them. Thank you for realizing that I am a forgiving person, that I strive to be a forgiving person and that anger is a poison and toxin in my body. Thank you for teaching me to love, but not to hate. Thank you for a wonderfully flawed child who is my teacher and friend and who has shown me what it is to be a true warrior, to truly fight for justice. Thank you for my own flaws, being perfect would be exhausting and really there is no such thing. Thank you for this moment, for this opportunity. For knowing that I don’t know half of what I’d like to. Thank you for this life being a journey, a process we travel in our own ways.mary ghost

Today

Today the wind is wild.
A gust that smells of electricity
of anticipation
Today I sat on the wood steps
Several tears fell to my dirty knees and made tiny muddy tributaries

Today I wait with the storm to break
To let lightning be my fury
To let rain wash me
Cleanse me,
absorbing
seeping through the permanent ink
The second or third layers of stories
when secrets and lessons walk with me
shadows connecting at my feet

Today I let the thunder do the talking
droplets of rain bleeding ink on the page
Feed on words and water like leeches
Sucking them dry

Today I try it on
This new layer of epidermis
Skin like teflon
Where your words
your silence joins my silence and we co-exist
Letting syllables and insults slide off me
Thoughts coagulate

Today I shut it down
The willingness to engage
to explain and unearth

Today I am alone (we all are)
The unseen
I pass by people
Hide in plain sight
Under this humid, heavy air
Time slow like honey
Sticky like the sweat on my neck, my lips, my feet

Today I wait for change to come and find me.

Ode to a Four Letter Word

Ode to a four letter word:

Own.
Your.
Shit!
Your secrets and opinions
your scars
your mistakes
your misspoken words
your hurt
your intentions
your respect
your flaws.

Work.
That.
Shit.
Moving Earth with every step
Every toss of the hair
Every flirty smile
Well polished on the outside
In the way you move
the way you carry yourself
Take notice
Work.
It.

Shit happens.
As if this phrase ever helped anyone.
Yes, of course shit happens
It happens to others
To people that aren’t as fortunate as me
It doesn’t negate my perception
My truth
Shit happens
as a dismissal of true emotion
Is this shit even relevant?

Enough.
Enough of this shit.
Your tongue churns out lies like they’re hot off the press
Like a record skipping
Hollow words
No depth
No meaning
Enough of this deadbeat dad shit
This nationwide epidemic we ignore shit
Enough of this poor single mom shit
This struggle to get by shit
Enough wiping my son’s tears
Crying for his father
For any father
For a man he will never know.
Fuck that shit.

About to lose my shit
Yet it always comes slinking back
Anxiety tightens the brain
and you run out of deep breaths to take
Teetering on the edge…
of what?
What would it look like to just surrender?
To just give up?
To just let shit go.

Quit.
Talking shit.
Pack that shit
Pass that shit
Light that shit
Smoke that shit
That green shit
That “take the edge off” shit
Quit.
Taking shit.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean shit
(but it does)
You tell yourself you are
Over this shit
Done with this shit
Yet, you keep coming back for more
This shit
This waste
It camps out inside you
Gypsy traveling sadness shit
The wander the earth alone shit

The realizing
We are all in this together shit.
Rebuild shit
Reinvent shit

Stop.
Stop this shit.

Slow Rumble

It happens when the dust clears
When the sunlight streams in the frost bitten windows
When the brass statues are polished, and all the books are gently placed on the shelves.
When the table is clear, the plants are watered
When there is space between minutes
And the room thanks you for noticing
When small gestures feel like rewards

It rests in the pit of my stomach
A fluid weight
Like diving under water and holding your breath
Just long enough to imagine what a different life feels like
To know where your primordial gills and fins would have taken you…

A tsunami.
A tsunami stirs my blood.

It feels like snowflakes, fresh fallen
Cotton, gray skies
The cold pressing against your tongue for a moment
…a second
(the impermanence)
Your senses left tingling

It rests right below the surface,
Skin like ice
A frozen epidermis – with waves and crystallized particles mixing
How it sounds different colliding with the shore
A hollow lullaby washes over the rocks

You ache for warmth
You breathe in the cold
Let it paint your lungs of lace
You pause
Releasing
A visible exhale
Yes, this is alive!
Hot breath, cold air lock hands in a symbiotic dance
A swift rhythm
A pulse

It feels like this,
Right now when the house is quiet and the snow gently falls.
When my pen touches paper and spills out letters one by one
Until they connect
Until they make something
Anything.

Sometimes a low, slow rumbling
Eyes open
An underwater scream
It is mine
However vulnerable or powerful or vain

My rattle
My shake
A ripple of concentric circles
Expanding
My tiny earthquake
A roar
A sound of eruption
A soft and deliberate demolition
A flow
An overflowing
A cadence
A moment
This moment
A satisfaction
A solace
A fierce whisper
An only escape.

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Walk with fire

I awoke with languid limbs, heavy from dreams I was still speaking to.
My head a fog of past particles mixed by confusion and the sound of my son calling.
Winds had battered my window all night
A banshee knocking, beckoning me to come play
To be swept away in endless frozen gusts
I breathe deeply and promise myself I will get him to school, despite the arguing, despite the begging to stay warm and safe in dark blankets.
My gentle, yet strong words cut through his attempts
He finally cracks like ice beneath his boots and agrees to get dressed.
Only three hours late for school.
I sit in the car, warming my hands.
Just breath.
Just silence.
For the first time in sixteen days.
Home again, I dress the dog in his ridiculous coat and force myself into the subzero
The cold hard ground bites back
My face numb
Winter has taken me.

I walk slowly, letting the cold absorb me, watching the puddles, now miniature ponds
The smell of pine and smoke blowing past me.

I walk with a fire inside
A fuel
An eternal flame of defiance, devotion, disillusion
I envision the burning words I began this new year with

Goodbye to memories that taint my vision, goodbye to dead love lost and long buried, goodbye to fear of failure and exposure.

I am exposed.
Face and hands raw
Stepping determinedly
Like a predator
Like a wolf inside me
Ready to howl with neighborhood dogs paws up on fences
I stop and meet their eyes.
They know this cold,
This heavy gray

I walk with fire burning inside, my charred words resonating,
Hanging by strings
Held tight by ribs
And lungs
By layers of skin and clothing.

I release my breath, I bare my teeth
I watch this slow release
This air escaping in curls and whispers from my silent, empty throat.

I turn the corner toward home
I turn my back to the bitter cold.
I step inside
My stomach a space of grounding, of intuition and trust.
A new breath of fiery coals.

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Inside out

image

Between the wind and the midnight fireworks
I fell
Inside my breath
Watching it unfurl
Dance like the flame in the night
Ring loud like bells colliding
In this one moment
I watch it burn
The leftover parts
The shedding of skin
My midnight oil
Dividing days and years
I saw words scribbled without thought
Shriveling
Dispersing
Leaving trails of thin smoke
Of dragon’s breath
Of lungs of fire and throat of coals
A tongue of ash
Teeth of ember
Spitting out these last words
These last vows
Of tethered memories
Into the flame
Into the last minutes
With the cold air batting my face
My bare feet resting in soft snow
This is ritual
This is clean
This is the frozen time
Where intentions and lessons learned
Walk hand in hand
A destructive resurrection
My phoenix
My wildfire
I welcome you
I leave you and meet you again
In the orange glow
In the fragments of spark
I find that moment
Closed eyes
Words whispered
Extinguished
The wild winds come in like harbingers
A cathartic release
The last minute
The last hour
The last day
Come and gather the unconscious
The subconscious
The divine layers that divide and bind
The melting, binding fragments
Stirred once over
Paper fragments escape
Carried away
I open
I fall inside
The flame fades out