Time Travel

portals in your eyes
take me to    soft fields   
where it smells
like after rain   
where it glows 
amber and you
blend right in
and      somehow     
are gone

mustering up the 
electricity to feel 
something
the calling
the cocoon 
the nothing at all
digging for an 
opportunity
not to search
but        find  
and then 
lose 

thinking about                      
washing
it all away?                    
 watching
it all away? 
float like my thoughts 
wrapped in 
a blanket of cloud    
making u-turns 
around stars                     
wishing
it all away

I flip a coin that lands
on heads
and drink
from your well

Airborne

turned around

   facing

the other

way

      moving

in some

direction

       i

press on

    with

arrows pointing

       towards

me

run through

     the vines

that     once

    tripped me

fly  over

    my

grandmother’s

    grave

and

    mother’s

face

tumble

and tuck

become

one

with

rock

with

earth

cartwheel

down

ex lovers’

     spines

until

i no longer

see

    the
green

of

vines

 

 

honey bee

in the midst

     of

buzz-buzz-

buzzin’

against your

    window

i see those

evergreen

   eyes

through

glass

oh   my

how the sun

     shines

through

your

blinds

my body’s

kissin’ sky

   now

and your

belly-button

is the

          sun

you pressed

me

into a   flower

 into

        your

favorite

            poem

re-read our

    story

as words

      try

to      describe

the

    beauty

of evergreen

    pines

Bright Blue

follow my
lines
curve of my
hips

thin gold silver
light
bounces off
thighs

glitter sheen
sparkle
curve of your
lips

swimming over
underneath
waves in your
eyes

flesh on flesh
feel of
your shoulders
against mine

cut into me
like the sun
through the
blinds

at dawn
you are cool
as morning
dew

hands float
down my
back
bone

lips on my
neck
color of
you

bright bright blue

leave me
at sunrise
but never
alone

bright blue

The Painter

infinite stretch

I reach

 rub green through   Nature

trees on my

    fingertips

    color of our lungs

on rainy afternoons

    a lush world

blooms slow

like a    Lotus

     half-open

I wait

     planet of mud

 hands     outstretched

      to the blue

it pours

               leaves

are greener

     lost nights

I write

     places with

pumpkin purple

     horizons

and

  blood orange

      suns

      smeared ink

I erase

  blood blue

        stains

  on      page

        when the pen

     breaks

   I bleed     out

Spring Cleaning

 mud

 on my summer dress

 washed a thousand times

 the brown spot, which is supposed to be

 white and pure like the rose I gave my mother

 the tile floors are red and I am an off-white egg

 my yolk drips onto your head

 your laugh fills the walls

 we are in a cave

 somewhere

 home

 white

 is forgiveness,

 is hope, is surrender,

 my mother took the petals
and turned them red just like her lips

how remembering that always was

moment of being sucked dry
i scrubbed for days

i am white
wearing

mud

Washing Up

my hands    are dirty

I’ve been

digging

hit bone, hit earth,

hit rock, hit bone
You are gone
deep in Earth’s

core,

away from the

center

of my heart
You are dead
my hands

are dirty

I’ve been

cleaning

up your

blood

from the rug
Red finger tips

like my mother’s

 

lipstick
I thought I was her

then there was

you

consuming me

like a

fresh

catch
I bit the bait

but never bled

if ever you find a woman who resembles poetry, head wrapped in metaphors— heart warm like morning coffee, do not hesitate. ask for a lifetime. spend it unapologetically.

 

inhale the universe inside her skin.

this is home.

 

a passionate woman is worth the chaos.

Stream of Consciousness (unedited)

everything else blurs away like white static from televisions when i was growing up and september 11th happened and my mother’s face and the gray, so much gray. how did i find her after so many scenes and rituals and deep breaths? i found her standing right across from me at the wake, there were flowers swallowing up the room i was there, reading about nanny and everyone had tears in their eyes because it was so well written and beautiful and i missed her more than ever when i read about my sicilian grandmother, ancestor who shared my blue blue veins. i’ve been writing so much about my mother and the seasons and change, that i think real change is floating away from me before my very eyes and it’s scary, as scary as the gray, as the blue. soon it’ll be mother’s day again this year and i will think about how alive she is on paper but invisible in reality and wonder if she will read my book about her the day it gets published or will it sit on her kitchen counter while she dusts around it? 
you are rainbow, all the dim colors of night and i am still here waiting for woman with red lipped smiles and pointed eyebrows i watched you tweeze them in the mirror so many times behind but you looked away glass and pantyhose sheer black your perm looked at me with wide eyes and its curls puffed up at me almost like a cat who’s ready to attack. i ran away and never came back but you returned night after night in the glass mirror.

Indigo Sun

The sun burns my skin. It is hot, strong, and smells of      fire. I cook, I bake, I let the      rays from the sky shoot into my     pores. I sweat. I burn, I tan. I am     bronze, I am olive, the color of my grandmother, the color of my     ancestors.

I look down at my     blue veins, the same ones which run along my     mother’s thin hands. The blood inside pumps, thick with vengeance, thick with the     sadness that I try to escape from. I fail. It lies     deep in my connective tissue. Indigo lines connect to my heart, connect me to     her.

The sky is aquamarine, with cotton clouds that float     effortlessly. I try to look up, but the sun blinds my eyes. As a     kid, I tried to look at the sun for as long as I could     stand. I was amazed by the fire, the light, the     burn. The heat warmed my     chilled bones.

Somewhere,     Lil is looking up at the same     sky and looking down at these same     veins.