Like two fresh buddhas they sit

on the top bunk

	       conspiring play

Two Believers

	       Two Thin Air Breathers

scalps closer to ceiling

		      than mine ever is

She bubbles in like a bent leg dancer

			       a flesh splasher

I'm the never let you go catcher

        but I always let her go

He's the larger and climbs on his own

down to the rough rug

plant of our feet

He's the bold spirited leaper I apprenticed with

I live like a gardener

              doggedly tending the wild twist of their stems

	           fending off what I can of disease

It is impossible work

rooted where they are

and though their beauty demands more strength

than I lately possess

still I persist

in refusing to abandon the effort



Yesterday's dirt poses

a still life waiting for the paint

Sink         a bowl of not fruit

but chaotically piled plates

silently crusted

Counter         not cloth draped

but covered still

stoic crowd of cups and spoons

Two cantaloupes dumped

from grocery bag since 6 o'clock

lean cheek to cheek

as if to gossip at my mess

Bits of play dough      pink and blue

confetti on the tired floor

And more!

Everywhere one thing more

to place somewhere else

Soon I'll push through my thick mood

begin to scrub

stand at sink                hands to suds

and teardrops of cut crystal

dangling in the east

will rock a thin rainbow across my cheek


Dreamt Aphrodite

husked off many bodies

of abused women past

and I was for once

a happy star


being not dead

and needing a body

I flew to her womb

floated to the hum

of divine beats

grew fresh fresh dots of myself

piled one        just so       against another

She is a veteran mother

and birth a simple reverse dive

drying nakedness

cradled by ageless arms

first breath     I am here     and no cry


I have not got exotic flavors I would serve to you

this tongue dips into pots


dishes out loaves of crusty peasant bread

coarse and butter melting sweet

	    her hand like a

	    fresh bud


	    in mine

	    her head against

	    first voice


	    of my heart

	    her form curled

	    to fit


	    my lap as nest

a plain and simple dish

spiced only with

every mothers love

I bake      I serve      I eat