Night

Into the blackness of the night

we breathe we think we dream we fight

a battle won long lost in morning light

into the blackness of the night.

Into the shadow of the trees

we crawl around on bended knees

to look for that which sets us free

into the shadow of the trees.

Into the brilliance of the stars

we seek out lost worlds Jupiter, Mars

so from this land we can go far

into the brilliance of the stars.

Into the rest of just closed eyes

we let out one last peaceful sigh

as time fades out and passes by

into to the rest of just closed eyes.

Melting into inky dark sky

into the blackness of the night.

Media naranja 🍊

Media naranja 🍊
Tú eres mi media naranja
Me cuidas y me calmas
Me abrazas y me amas
Me conoces y me encantas
Tú eres mi media naranja

Companion

Companion 

The warmth of arms

Wrapping around my tired

And saddened frame 

The touch of your cheeks

Smooth yet prickled

As they share my tears 

The softness of your breath 

As you tell me 

It will be ok 

Thank you love 

You help me not to feel 

So alone 

You have...

You have...

Eyes I can rest in

Curled up like a ball 

In their warm dark layers

Eyes that close and crinkle

When smiles run and skip 

From your teeth 

to your cheeks 

Jorge

You are a furnace 

In my cold house 

Fledgling love

I miss you sweet boy

Your big round eyes

Your full teethed smile

The curve of your arm 

We weren't an all consuming fire

But a sweet little candle flame 

You were the one I wanted 

The warmth that melted

My freezer-burnt heart

You picked me up like

You'd never let me go 

Called me beautiful 

Funny and smart

Being seen by you 

Even just for a time 

Strengthened 

The invisible girl 

In my heart

I was angry 

that you let me go 

Now I am just sad

And nostalgic 

As I remember 

The fledgling love 

Of you and me 

Loving you is my sacred secret 

Close kept by my heart 

A polished pink rock 

My childlike treasure 

Clasped between small fingers 

My Mother

My mom has always been somewhat of a magical figure to me. As a child I clung to her like moss to a tree. Forever clamped to a leg or an arm or shopping cart even, if she was pushing. I remember the extreme fear I had of losing her in the grocery store. Because, without her the world was a giant scary place full of tall strangers. But with her the world was safe and wonderful.
When our family lived in Corpus Christi, we used to camp on the beach near our home on the base. We would wake up and climb out of our child size tent to have adventures strutting across the endless sand. We would find hermit crabs who lived up very much to their name. They hid determinedly in their protective shells.  Desperate to see what they really looked like, we would bring them to our mother. She would take their rounded shells into her small hands and coo to them until their little blue and green eyes poked out on their stalks to find the source of that lovely sound.
As I grew older my mother changed and grew in my eyes. Slowly she shed her fairy wings and began to take on human form. When I was in middle school her spine began to shoot pain throughout the rest of her body. For months my constant, long-suffering mother paled in pain and endured ridiculous medical efforts to ease her suffering. They shocked her back with electric sticky pads. They sent her to chiropractors that hurt more than helped. Until finally the jig was up and they had no choice but to put her into surgery. They opened her up and put a titanium disc into her spine, where disease and malformation had rubbed away at her bone and nerve. That week my father took my siblings and me to her recovery room. As I looked at my beautiful mother, pale and weak, the spell was forever broken. Despite her now super human spine and the wonder woman body brace she had to wear, my mother was revealed as what she had been all along: a finite, fragile human.
Around the same time my mother developed another condition called gastritis. Without warning it would be triggered, and the lining of her stomach felt like it was on fire for hours. But she never sat or laid down for long when these episodes hit. As I got ready for bed on these nights, I would hear the sound of her little feet bustling from room to room, cleaning everything. I would fall asleep to the hum of the vacuum after kissing my mom's pained but calm face goodnight, seeing all the fatigue and restraint swirling back and forth in her green eyes. One morning after one of her most painful and long nights, I woke up to our very tidy house and began to look for my mother. I walked into her room, then into her bathroom, then into her secret room. (This was connected to the back of her closet). I looked for her and found freshly painted on the wall, a bouquet of flowers. Sunflowers and bluebonnets danced happily in the wake of hours and hours of pain. Never hinting to the uninformed viewer of their tumultuous origin story.

River poem

Smelling of river and perfume 

Her head leans back 

Eyes closed as the sun

Dances and slides 

Across her drying hair 

A boat

I was a boat 

Tied to your shore 

Rocking softly 

I listened to your voice

It started off faint 

A tentative whisper

That grew louder

As you told me stories 

Mist rolled in slowly 

And I couldn't see 

Your sandy shores 

Your voice became distant 

When the mist faded 

I saw my rope 

That had once tied me to you 

Dancing down to deep waters

And I heard your voice no more 

run

I could spend days

 and weeks 

running away 

from you 

and me 

From those words 

that felt so empty  

Phrases that 

simultaneously 

froze my heart 

and freed me 

Permanence

I want to be your permanence

Not simply the glowing spark
that catches your eye

But also the fire
that keeps you warm

Not only the etherial whisper
that calls to you in the wood

But also chirps of summer bugs
that nightly sing you to sleep

A couple of summer Haikus

Warm soft sheets wrapped
as eyes flutter closed
southern night bugs chirp


Purple moon light bright
cool white concrete against her
under clearest night sky

Alex- First Date

Have you ever genuinely hoped you'd like someone? That's how it was with Alex Marlowe. I had known his family for several years, and had been friends with almost all his siblings when he asked me out. I was surfing through the newsfeed on Facebook and after a thumb swipe I saw a Sherlock joke. It was also a sibling joke about his middle brother feeling dumb in comparison to how fast Alex read. I immediately thought of my middle brother, who had the tough racket of being third of four kids with a genius little brother, smart older sister, and me. Pretty much a goody two shoes, as my sister always liked to put it. I commented on Alex's post, remarking on the commonalities of our big families. He wrote back. I thought hmmm.... I will send him a message, I'm not a middle aged, no Facebook etiquette kind of lady. Thus our talking began. Alex messaged me all day about books, life, who we are. My favorite part was when we talked about Lord of the Rings. Alex admitted how he had always wanted to be like Gandalf or Aragorn. But he admitted freely that in the Hobbit he was definitely Bilbo. I pointed out neither or the previous characters were protagonists. Biblo is because his courage and importance has to be discovered by the reader and himself. Alex said he liked the way I talked. Later he asked me out. Plain and simple, straightforward. No, “Umm you wanna chill at this party I might be at?”

          Our date was scheduled for the Saturday after my graduation from grad school. He called me everyday that week. And I loved every minute. That’s what I meant by hoping to like a person. I liked Alex on the phone so much I worried that something wouldn’t click in real life.

          When he showed up at my apartment that Saturday looking like a little old British man with an umbrella, I thought he was precious. Especially since I had to guide him street for street to my house due to his complete lack of direction. The ice was broken. He walked in and in a moment light shone right on his face and I saw the green orbs that were his eyes. A Marlowe kid trait. That was the first moment I began to realize that to me, Alex was beautiful.

         But I still didn’t know would this work, was I attracted to him. We went to the zoo and walked around enjoying the day. I got a good vibe. He had earned a trip to a wonderful river spot I call “the secret place”. We went and walked along the rocks in the creek. Alex was not a graceful wood ballerina like his sister, but a goofy squawking man. It was funny. But we talked and wove our tales of woe in love and I liked him all the more. While dangling our feet from a log, or dipping them gingerly in the creek.

         At the end of the evening I had made tacos and we sat on the couch watching Dr. Who. I snuggled in close as we watched “The Tomb of the Cybermen”, and made some goofy commentary and one inappropriate joke about foam. He won me over. We went on one more adventure/walk to the Founder’s Garden on campus. We lay in the grass and looked at the colors reflected on tree leaves. I told Alex to close his eyes so we could focus our senses on hearing and feeling. He asked if I was a romantic…yea just a bit. We walked home, and many hours of nervousness and internal battle later, I let him kiss me. And it was wonderful.

Confianza de semillas

Era una semilla

y nunca confiaba 

siempre decía

"hay pájaros"

que me comiera

si me encontraría 

No eres un pájaro 

mi amor

sino otra semilla 

que me dirige 

a la lluvia 

al sol y a la sombra 

Nuestro jardinero 

nos ha plantado 

juntos

para crecer 

lado al lado 

Jane Eyre Feminism

It has come to my attention of late that when I self identify as a feminist many people don't understand what I mean. Many think of the colloquial phrase "feminazi", they associate all feminism with radical men hating speech and deeds. In that context my feminism means i supposedly don't like men or wish to overthrow or demean all men. To that I would say you are mistaken. I am sorry that in our american culture today feminism means that to you. But it does not mean that to me.
When talking about this misconception of the phone with one of my best friends, a fellow educated deep thinking young lady, she told me that's why she doesn't outwardly self identify as a feminist. To her, that association is incongruent with her thoughts and life. I responded by telling her I understand but, I have taken a different approach. For me I'd rather take the heat and change people's minds about the very misconstrued view of feminism and the women and men who support it.
One of the most important books to me growing as a teenage girl was Jane Eyre. I love classic literature and I had often had trouble identifying with female characters at the time. Most female characters I ran into were important or loved or valued for their beauty. I wasn't all together unfortunate looking at the time but my focus was on my spirit and mind as well. I wanted to be loved and respected and valued for all of myself, not simply my packaging. It was the character of Jane Eyre that gave me such hope as a young woman. For Jane was not beautiful, she came from nothing and she did not find her value in other people's praise. Jane was mistreated and unloved but, she choose to treat others well and to love. Jane desired to be free so she worked to support herself in a time when women were practically pets to be bought and sold. Jane knew herself and her own heart and chose righteousness in her deeds over compromise of her self-respect. As I read that book I knew who I longed to be and would be. A girl and a woman who is strong in herself so that one day she might love someone else and be a real partner in a union.
Charlotte so beautifully put the feminist condition in the words of Jane to her beloved:

" Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal — as we are!”

My dearest readers, this is the truth I must proclaim to you. For me this is pure feminism, EQUALITY. I value men and I value women. Our spirits weigh the same.  It is to those equal spirits that I speak earnestly and lovingly ( I hope).

Caledonia

The cavity in my chest catches the sound

Thump thump it vibrates deep and strong 

Hips sway in a lazy circular haze

Blue and green light 

Saying goodbye to lost boys

To my dearest Peter and all my lost boys
over the years I have loved being
your Wendy bird
I gave you your "medicine"
I read you stories
We played house

But my sweet friends
our games are all make believe
and one day I want to live them
I'll miss you terribly
every boyish grin
and each wild Pan crow

I must go home now
Neverland is not where
Wendy birds belong
Thank you for our one last puff
of pixie dust
and for letting me inspire you

with a kiss

"Manhandled"

I grew up hearing the term "manhandled" to refer to improperly or roughly handling something or groping another person. I never doubted the veracity or thought of the sexist undertones of this phrase until a few nights ago.
I was out with friends and started getting antsy. I needed to move. I went over to a place I usually dance at with another jittery friend. We skipped the line and snuck in a window on the side of the building and it was on.
Dancing was fun but soon I got tired of my limited dance square and decided to try another place. I popped over to a smaller less crowded bar. In it I found better music and a smaller crowd. Perfect.
I noticed a friend and started dancing with her group. My hips swayed and bobbed as I let loose all my stress and energy.
At first a kind of timid bespectacled girl latched on to me. She was sweet and occasionally put her arm around my neck to draw me closer. Harmless attention. Then I felt a person bump up close to me from behind. I expected the assuming impertinent move came from a man.
At first it seemed that way as a muscular figure in a ball cap appeared in the corner of my eye. I backed away and the new girl assured me, "It's not sexual, it's just dancing."I didn't want to be rude and I thought well, I dance with friends that are girls all the time. What's the difference?
Slowly fun dancing turned to her grabbing my ass. I was startled but responded by moving her hand and expressing my dislike of this advance. Some how to her that meant touch me more. I stopped focusing for one second and found myself hoisted by my ass onto this woman in midair. As if I being small was a child she could pick up however and whenever she pleased. I told her to put me down and pushed on her shoulder only to realize how feeble I was in comparison.
She said "Come on dance!"I said "No!" and crossed my arms and went limp until she let me down. When my feet touched the floor once again I flew to a guy friend I saw, and wrapped my arms around him shaking. The girl came and tried to apologize to me but it was too late. She had disrespected my body and I was scared of her.
I could still feel where her hand had touched my bare ass ( I was wearing a dress). While I walked home alone I had a realization. All my life I had attributed perversion and sexual aggression to solely men. Bad men perhaps, but men alone.
That night I realized disrespecting and taking advantage of there people belongs to no gender. Any time a stronger or more powerful person forces a weaker person to do something it is wrong. "Manhandling" can be done by all mankind. When the strong threaten the weak, no matter their gender, they become the aggressor.

For my wandering friend

One day we'll walk
these streets again
like we once did
when you told me
of the girl you had loved
You wove your story
and soon enough
I wove mine too
until one day our weaving
became interspersed, intertwined

For now you need to unravel
to spread your threads
and gather new colors
wrapping in and out
of iridescent beads

But I know
one day we'll walk again
excited, inspired, yet content
speaking in feverish circles and swirls
as our feet squash crunching leaves.