Utopia

Satin like cream
poured from a pitcher
quenching lips & eyes
fresh ribbons of white
soft & so new
shining, shining
pearls & marbles
gems so brilliant
blinding reflections of ecstacy
faint smells of future gardens
in soft focus
rosy lips open in joy
daring the sun
not to shower the world with
infectious rays
diamond rooms
silver
white
a billion stars
maximum power
beams to light blue eyes
the bluest of blue
climactic youth
commanding the light
wielding it
perfection

Speed

The wind delivers it
like a needle
like a syringe, it injects the toxin
the faster the air
the stonger the dose
anxiety
the black tar rubber
mocking physics
visibility limited
only green lace & shadows whizz by
the feeling mixed
frightened yet safe
trusting but sorrowful
emotions too fragile
senses too sensitive
tissues can't absorb it all
freedom too intense
whips of ice on skin too soft
no barrier
no layers
plastic
steel
vinyl
leather
rubber
foam
missing
no illusion of safety
just a whisper of fabric & leather
like sanity
shielding
from images too horrible
holding in organs
keeping out worldly weapons
that intend to wound
maim
sting
kill
teetering on the edge
between insanity & normalcy
just a feather
a breath of wind
can push it either way
too much
too fast
dry eyes cringe closed
leather-gloved hands grasp tight
rubber wheels stop slowly
the rush of insanity disappears
speed gone for now
relief of stillness in the dark
warm rush of blood through the body
reminder of life

Filomena

Her hands large
calloused
like those of a construction worker
strong
from snapping chicken necks
gentle
from holding babies
so many babies
dry from the long journeys
from far-away lands

Her apron soiled
from work
and work
more work
than we will know
than my hands can manage

her smile wide
for me
one of the babies
so many babies
some lost
gone
but she smiles
for the ones
here now

hands
wrinkled with time
from carrying loads
of bricks
of wash
of vegetables from the garden
pots and pans
babies
so many of them

born of her womb
her children's wombs
kids
grandkids
great-grandkids
some gone so soon

still strong hands continue
to toil
to build
to feed
to clothe

me
one of the babies
come late
the first
of the youngest
of the oldest
first-born girl
little strong one

but my hands are not hers
they are so soft
too soft for her world
her time
but her blood
it flows in me
and that comforts
makes me proud
makes me stronger
stronger than I believe I am

The difference between what you think your life is going to be like & how it ends up

love
normalcy
strong & joyous
greatness
success
result of brain power
education

but most of all
love
marriage
solid
romantic
intense

vague possibility of motherhood
in a bubble of cotton
fuzzy
a mirage

no self-imposed limitations
only choices
options
no hardships that cannot be overcome
difficulties
not impossibilities
no permanent fears
a dark bedroom
an imagination
the only threats

naivete
precious innocence

reality of life
brutal
brings with it
more to fear than
horror films
far more terrifying
than boogeyman
or vampire
or poltergeist

More painful
than melodrama
painted-on sorrow
crocodile tears
for acting's sake
attention
ackowledgment
validation

Searing
deep
unrelenting
sorrow
wounds
gaping
mourning
life unlived
watching it go by
while the pain prevents
the success
the love
the normalcy

the secret
they forgot to teach me
didn't want me to know
if I dare whisper it...
there is no such thing as
normalcy
success

but the love
now that is real
sometimes part of the fear
but does not have to be
the only part of the dream
that heals
soothes
eases fears
lights dark rooms
scares away boogeymen
ghosts
werewolves

and lets the dream live again

Jolt

A jolt of crimson
so out of place
a bolt of light
forcing out smoky clouds
opening the dust grey blinds
giving way to bright cold illumination
strong
new
definite
unlimited
no longer filtered to blue
the spectrum intact
infrared
ultraviolet
all in between
bursting
not creeping with timidity
pry open the warped wood of the frame
unabashed
welcome
invite
soak
bask
embrace
the breeze warm
sky alive again
feel the electrons
brain now charging with atmospheric electricity
absorbing
pulsing
changing
in a breath
the world open again
remembering how
like a coma victim
a cyborg
coming to
grey pasty hands
shading shocked eyes
but just for a moment
pupils adjust quickly
excitedly
not wanting to miss the light

OCD 2.0

refresh refresh refresh
no change
a millisecond gone by
refresh again
click another tab
do it again
cyber addiction
obsession
poisonous radiant glow in the dark
guilt & lethargy
socialization fading into a silent tweet
self-justifying & defensive
chat blog text skype
muscle-memory
guiding hands over keys
pressing buttons until
nerves numb
escape into the pixels of infinity
meld into the hot plastic
the processor and cables
metal and polymer
a signal from another place
an alien cloud
waves and particles
unseen
create worlds unreal
ideas
emotions
overflowing
overwhelming
anonymous words
flesh of the fingers calloused
eyes unquenched and raw
compulsion takes over
needing
the validation
recognition
a comment on a blog
a "like" on a status
social acceptance
via anti-social medium
a paradox

Prelude

Fluorescent lights
show the faces
bright & real
a blur of life
whizzes by
her brain in
Saturday night slow motion
not able to take it all in
unable to process
what the senses send
to the nerve center
the brain atrophies
so quickly
with non-use

The errands are invented
the reasons fictitious
she just had to leave
for a brief reprieve
from the chaos
the nothingness
a chance to do
even if the doing
is so trivial
contrived

It was a prelude
to the dreaded day
a glimpse of things to come
foreshadowing of anxiety
a dull ache in the head
involuntary clench in the stomach
the brightness mocks her
the lights that were meant to aid
now make her shade her eyes
turn her face
to the dark
the cold wind
then back to the soft warm glow
of the chaos
of home.

Amy

Absence of grief
no evidence of pain
causes me unease
sorrow missing where expected
a gap
no longing
not a whisper of a crack in the voice
the word "husband" not even slightly hushed
no avoidance
the words "her dad" create a wince in my heart
but not her face
steady
not a mask
she should cry
for him
for her
for us
her laughter taboo
making me sad
for the girl, the dead man
for her
we should be glad
that she should be healing
healing so grandly
but I wonder
I doubt
I assume
is it wrong
or simply an instinct
an instinct to be followed
trusted
should she grieve for me?
me, who she does not know
except for work
what business is it
she should be who she is
and be that without shame
despite my instinct
in defiance of it.