The Keys, Canyon, and At Last, Dancing

Your brown eyes must stop
breaking my tired heart
That cool you carry up
on your high shoulders
needs to be cracked
open like canyons on fire
 
My body is a cage that keeps me
from dancing with the one I love.
 
Your brown eyes must look
out of their cage-tower
That distance was down for
all those other offenders
but not for these green eyes
who never once broke your gaze
My limbs cannot pull out
farther across the canyon's edge
 
My body is a cage that keeps me
from dancing with the one I love.
 
Your brown eyes must turn
about face in this young lock
My keys are much too small
for your grown man's heart
My hands too raw to pull—
you must meet me half way
 
9-16-13

How He Is Not My Child

I didn't stay up at the hospital until three a.m. waiting for the
doctors to assess the situation. I didn't have to be the one to
sign papers for the insurance company, for permission to treat,
for release of legal responsibility. I didn't have to field the
calls, protect him from his mother, sit next to him for hours
under the cold florescent lights of anger. I did not bare the
weight of pen on paper to surrender my flesh and blood to the
intervention of complete strangers. I am not the parent
deciding always how much to force him to wake up early, get
up out of bed, and live his life. Or how much to let him sleep,
let him fail classes, let him learn from his own mistakes like a
boy on the verge of adulthood. I didn't watch the labor of
sixteen years calling out from rooftops for men in uniforms to
pull him down, dress his wounds, search for more weapons.

8-10-13

My Mother Taught Me

By direct or indirect means
things my mother taught me are
 
that makeup isn't that important
that shoes can often constrain you
warning signs can be challenges
and walls are meant for climbing
 
that authority must be questioned
that no one is really in charge here
elevator buttons must all be pushed
and puddles must be stepped in
 
that fancy restaurants are too serious
that dancing and singing heals the soul
school and work will still be around
even when you take the days off
 
that clothes are mostly functional
that limits are mostly imaginary
how pets are better than some humans
and the end is just around this corner
 
that children can still teach us things
that the emperor isn't wearing clothes
we make funny faces when we're angry
and to keep only things that lighten the load
 
5-12-13

Brown Eyed Boy (But Not a Boy)

You strode in with shoulders
of a man so much taller,
your eyes held back with the tilt
of your head and chin up.
 
I tried to see you coming from behind
but I was looking for the wrong boy.
There was this guy—not a boy—not a man
but same brown eyes, same brown curls
(and growing). It was you, undeniably.
Your brows were long and circles
under your eyes were set hard.
 
I know that posture so well,
I've seen it my mirrors past
and in my angry generation.
But you—not you—not your brown eyes,
I have your face memorized like song,
I have loved every inch of it.
 
I hoped you'd never be familiar
with clenching fists, scraping skin,
bracing the beat of your heart
to stop it from hemorrhaging,
it will callus thick like cartilage.
Grit your teeth and stare them down
without flinching and unbolt the windows.
 
I have only seen you as a child,
my hand-holding boy in the back seat.
But here you sit, defiant smile,
refusing to play nice—I'm listening.
You now at sixteen, elbows out
tired of rolling with the tide. 
 
You see none that qualifies, all their
smoke and mirrors don't fool us now.
We are all playing the part of the wizard,
but you're far too old for fairy tales.
I want to sing you to sleep, but you
are not six, you need more than lullabies.
 
You mapped the exits, found the weak hinges
(eventually, you'll see them everywhere).
I can't offer you shit, except how I get it,
I'll stop holding you to that promise
that you will invent that shrink-ray
and keep yourself a child for me.
 
5-5-13

Sonic Screwdriver

I wish I had a sonic screwdriver
I wish I had a magic wand
I wish I had a time machine
or pixie dust or a book of spells
 
I wish I had a genie lamp
I wish I had the holy grail
I wish I had a flying carpet
or a portal or an Atlantis key
 
I wish you were three
in the back seat of my car
singing an 80s Cure song
 
I wish you were sixteen
driving with me to open mic
singing an 80s Cure song
 
I wish my love was enough
I wish you weren't there
I wish you and me were anywhere
far and away anywhere else
 
5-2-13