her

its a certain shade of burgandy
that reminds me
or a quiet bench
in moonlight
that reaches back
across the years and miles
to another woman
i was trying to be
when i found myself
with myself
on a bench
in the moonlight
in the english countryside
almost wearing
a certain shade of burgandy
reminding me
no matter who i was trying to be
i wasn't what i wasn't
and couldn't be
though i tried
and wanted to
and loved
what was happening
on that bench
in the moonlight
in the english countryside
with her

THIS IS THE HOME WE'VE BEEN CALLING YOU TO

(resulting from Pat Allen's extraordinary offering at the first ever HOLISTIC APPROACHES TO ARTS EDUCATION conference at JFKU)

a black form torn from
wholeness
a hand outstretched with my
little piece of yes
an active bit of movement
finally
legs running
TOWARD MY JOY!
i am she she is me coming
from my darkness
i claim her
torn joy
and
T R A N S F O R M
i raise my tentative hand
higher and higher toward
ability
toward possibility
toward peace
carved from pieces of
myself
i see her, she, *it*, and
finally me
and when i want to
i tear the stitches
from my open heart
and begin
again to
think my
yes yes yes
crowned again
with yes
begin
this knowing
of the dark parts
of my happy self
offering chalkboard
witness
to that which
i must continue
to do
be
move through
i keep showing up
with raised hand and
extended bits of
yellow yes
i bring my valentine
into being
to try
again and again
to run
to stand
to move
to see
to allow
to continue
to be

yes

with the invitation
to dialogue i see

begin again
keep showing up
try again and again
run toward
your exalted yes

it is your royalty
your legacy
your heritage
all impulses and
synapses and
histories of
herstorys
before you
sit with
you in
this classroom
YOU have been
given your
birthright

THIS IS THE
HOME WE'VE
BEEN CALLING
YOU TO

keep showing up
the chalkboard
miracles are on their way

and you 2
and you 2
and you 2
and you 2
and you 2
and you 2
YES!
Still
Yes.
always YES
YES
YES
YES
YES
when you want to
it's okay to
try again and
again
again
YES!

and from that thing
that is your
empty center of
connection--
the vessel and
chords through
which you
have been
nourished
and passed
know--
we will meet
you there--

we will always
call you home
(for dinner)

piles of perfect

and the pile of perfect
sits there
mounting
it's requirements
expecting
in its air of expectancy
the imagined porcelian
is always cracked
shatters and breaks
upon first inspection
perfection is for dreams
and can't withstand the real air
of language
of oxygen
of human sight
and so i step over it
around it
like the dog poop on the path
it is a pile i'd rather not step in
and wish the one who left it
would bend to scoop it up
neatly depositing it
in the specified
containers
don't get your pefect on me
i don't want to bring it in
on my shoes

spinning

and spinning and running and spinning and running and spinning
and caffienating
and spinning
and sugaring up
and spinning
and spinning
and spinning
and spinning
and spinning
and running
and running
and spinning
and it is not at all like my little girl does it
arms open to the vaulted ceiling of joy
wide smile on her happy face
decorated with dappled sunlight
in the slow turn of pure joy
young and free and loved
and knowing it
with all the joy pefection showers on you
this
her way
her beautiful young girl way
is the only way
to really spin
skirt dancing with you
in the dream
gathering its pleats
in animation
rendered perfect
for the long remembering
in days
months
years
decades
that follow
oh,
to slow down
to stop my kind
and take up hers

thank you, dear daughter
for the look of you
spinning in raptured sunshine
showing me how to try
again

better than sex

separated by an overflowing tray
egg white omelette
texas toast
blueberry jam
a beautiful bowl of quartered oranges
and their carcasses, processed on the empty plate
on the other side
of the tray
a tipping bowl of popcorn
a waiting cheese tray
the sunday paper
the box of oj
we are settled in
under the warm gift of blanket
watching bad english comedians
with bad french accents
and sometimes german ones
as we watch the ww2 farce
"ello, ello"
sated
we turn our backs toward one another
and dream
sleepily returning
to that rest
we'd never have allowed ourselves
when we were twentysomething
and single
but now, this
sunday morning
sans children
married bliss
really is
better than sex

in the last hour of the first february friday's full moon

the rich feeling of a deep exhaustion
settling into my bones
a life
lived
a body
moved
a wave of
inspiration
caught
and ridden
up and down the long ride of the
deep day
dreams
awaken
books
costumes
new endeavors
opened
in the wider bit of shimmering day
swallowed by weary night
with starlight
to guide us
this full moon
takes it's whole toll
with no time to dig under the seats
for change to pay it.

loving him

loving him
looping with him
laughing at the same bad english comedy year after year
waking early to his tea pot
holding hands
loving him
looking longingly at shoes in too expensive stores
saying yes to his whims for travel and toys
celebrating client stories
holding energy when things are going wrong
loving him
waking to his insistence on the best of nights
closing the door in foreplay, knowing whenever there is request
there is fulfullment
for both of us
exhausted heavy breath of awe and wonder
who knew fidelity could be that good this long
loving him
watching as he irons their school uniforms
as he plans great events with them
as he takes them, their concerns and possibilities
under careful consideration
lovingly
the best father i have ever seen
loving him
as he dresses to the nines
at his request buttoning with cufflinks
helping choose his ties
his matching pocket scarf
his frames
every detail stunningly executed
all this for looking good
all this for me
loving me
he
loving me
me
loving me
he
loving me
this is the gift of my good marriage
my forever partnership with this good man
and i am so profoundly grateful for god's good plan
that we tripped over
at that london discoteque
all those years ago
he, standing beautiful
eyes locked with mine
calling me over with a beckoning gesture
i ignored
me
on the dance floor with my students
too beautiful to go home
closing eyes in memory
of "we are family"
and the summer,
flanked with precious friends and sisters
having wished aloud for a beautiful man
who would not talk
would not lay a line on me
remembering how beautiful i always felt
flanked by sisters, dancing
and as the song played
opening my eyes
to see him there
dancing with me
in happy silence
grooving
with eyes locked
for hours
dancing
without saying a word
for hours
for hours
looking
peering into what was already ours
determined at birth
god, hiding us each from the other
in opposite ends of the earth
meeting here for this first and last time
this beginning that had already begun
so many lifetimes before
this moment where before ended
and life began
together
since that moment
since that moment
being led by the hand
to a table in the back
having him arrive from the bar
with expensive water
and before uttering a single word
taking out his pen
and little bits of paper
to start a conversation
about where we might
meet
where we might
live
where we might
consumate
our
marriage
of spirit
of heart
of mind
of body
of love
begin it
again
forever
like we do each day
like we keep doing every day
loving him
loving me
loving us
loving him
loving me
loving us
loving him
loving me
loving us
loving them
now they grow
loving them
we are family.