Ode to the Tomato

The summer sun is red
and ripe for the picking.
Humidity hangs its
veil
between the trees
buzzing with cicadas.
Lush and tumbling,
the garden
spills
from the earth.
Amidst the greens and golds,
the juicy beating heart
of July
hangs from the vine.

Lifeblood of the kitchen,
sacrificed with
seedy grace,
the tomato
blesses our plates.
The summer sun
shines its benevolent
flavor
upon our table laden
with harvest.
Eat, drink, and be merry;
for tomorrow brings
frozen marinara.

Person Suit II

naked i came from the
(womb)
but since that moment,
i have made +meticulous+ my
skin
into a well-tailored
personsuit.
ironed smooth and stitched
----tight----by----half----truths
impeccable by design
superb reality [tv]
i suppose.
not a day passes when
i do not fill its
comfortable ~folds~

i was tricked once
into taking it off,
thinking myself a lover.
discarded, it lay on
the floor_______of my
bedroom
for a few breathless nights.
but <never> again.
^god^ himself will have to
rip it from me
to get at my
/soul/

Hatred is a Bitter Frost

hatred is a bitter frost:
a trial indeed
for seeds of compassion
sown in soil
now frigid
and stale.
let us coax back the
Sun,
let us hasten the
Great Thaw,
and in the cautious spring,
watch with prayerful eyes
for shoots of green.

Other Lover

death is my other lover.
a covert courtship,
he beckons for me
to leave you once and for all
and taste his consummate embrace.

with death i flirt i kiss.
i yearn with jealous passion
to be like the lovers he has
claimed in eternity's bed.

and death throws stones at my window
in the night,
daring me to run away
with him.
but i do not go.

curses to my infidelity i do not go.
i will not leave you,
lover in life in sweet stained bed.
i will not leave you all alone,
to face the rising sun the pulse of blood
in a heart still alive enough for pain.

i will not do that to you.

kisses only, death.
i am a married woman.

Of Bark and Bone

i am wary of your body.
sharp knees the elbows
a branch whipping out,
trunk so guarded
by sinewed limbs,
your hands the thorny twigs
the angles uncompromising.
yet within your ribcage,
between the stubborn strips
of bark and bone,
is a little bird's nest,
nestled, in a
hollow knot.

Five Years' Time

In five years' time,
You may not say my name,
Nor hold its sound,
Sweet between your lips.
In five years' time,
Your hands may fold,
In silent prayer,
Around another woman's
Lovelined palm.
But today,
You are here,
And your eyes, like two
Doves,
Send me sweet lines
Of peace,
The name of God,
As the breath before
A kiss.

Sunflower Sentinels

Sunflower sentinels,
Which stood so tall
Over summer bounty,
Now droop,
Seeds falling
From their bronzed heads.
No longer need at their posts,
They wane.
Yet let them
Fear not:
The fruit they so
Carefully guarded
During summer's
Young-blooded haze
Will last the winter,
And in the spring,
New shoots will
Sprout, kicking and
Screaming fresh life
For them to tend,
Their helios manes
Proud and swaying.

Lover

make me your lover
my pearl earrings
on your dresser
my scent
left
on the pillow to your
right
where you stroked
my hair
the night before

Sea Drum

whoever made
the sea
must also have made
your drum
which in waves
beats my skin
into salt

Reeds

above the water
the reeds quiver
each a charcoaled stroke
of woody pencil
beneath the water
the reeds sway
smudged by the palm
of the waves

Honey Sweet

after you are through with me
i am like a honeycomb
run through with holes
where i once was filled
dripping with sweet gold
too stung to be consumed
i am your perforated
holy queen

Facebook

I see your face staring out at me
A flat form
Immovable blocks of color
Tiny electric squares
That somehow stir the liquid
Life in your eyes

And I have no words to say
No feeling but a blank
A blank, but fulfilled
For not all cravings must be
Satisfied
Empty space can be complete
Without being
Filled

There is peace in static
Of conversations not ventured
I look at your block face
Liquid life
And am blank, fulfilled

Dust Searches for Me

corn tassels are my
screen
from a lover's eyes.
dust searches for me,
over endless country roads.

i store knowledge under my bed
as if it will make my
dreams
more illuminated
or my body
more prepared
for the secrets
only pillows know

Incense

Smoke from incense
Fire's ghost haunting my room
Curling and beckoning
I wash my face in it and
breathe, spirit
Like a veil unraveling
grey threads;
the mourning, threadbare
and fragrant

Hits to the Head

Pulled taught
the drum head
and his skin against his bones

a single hit
wood against drum a pulse
his veins cold winding up
his arms

and how the cymbals
shiver
i listen, they trickle down my spine
he stands
outside in frigid weather
smoke from his lips, shivering to
his head

oh but louder now, the drums
in heavy blocks of time rage
shooting streaming
as tears of fury
shaking, hurting
his body trembling

pulled taught
the drum head
and his life stretched thin
and short
from hits to the head

Henna Song

She sang a song like henna:
Thin and red,
It climbed up from the ground.
Up my legs in vines,

Punctuated by curls of
Wet dyes.
I felt the paint brush,
Cool and submissive to my arm.

And her song decorated me,
With imprints of marriage,
The blood of the blooms,
Which die for ceremony.

Her words were stained
With henna blood from marriage.
And no color left beneath the dye.
For its vines had clutched her throat,
Like a ring on a finger.

Sonnet

When time stretched out its hand and beckoned coy,

I sighed and blushed and fluttered with my youth,

And followed swift the red autumnal joy, 

That with its gold deceives the mind as proof.

Yet yonder so the groves began to whither,

And with the rising moon proved naught but pain.

Time binds the hands with rings of traitor silver,

Commitments to pale blush of winter rain.

I lost the sweet repose of tender spring,

Fair Romeo's face I passed as it were stone.

Inconstant moon, I swore by thee as living,

And found thy light alone in Juliet's tomb. 

Love's youthful blush to pallid fate thus drains, 

Ne'er to know the sighs of summer rains.