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It’s hard to forget a girl with blue hair

I know this but I did not know it until I went blue

And yet somehow I think I still slip into the crevices, the background cracks, the silent invisible crowd

And yes I chose this blue

I mixed these shades intentionally

I miss the ocean and long for its waves

Letting my blue carry me instead

I do like the color – that is true and it is as simple as that in many ways

In others it is a quiet revolution for the days I do not have the words but know

I can change, oh yes,

Things can change

They do not have to be the same

Forever and a day and always

Simply because they were the day before

So yes, man who smiled at me and wished me good day

I will be blue for as long as I need to be

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Silence

I don’t know how to tell my parents

The echo their silence keeps sounding

Following the simple details

Of my life

⁃ that every time

⁃ And it is always

They don’t ask about a single question about the random little things I find to write to them when they say they want to stay in touch

That they miss me

Because I know they don’t want to know the way my heart bursts when I look at a girl or

how I feel the sky is bigger than god or that space is an invitation waiting for me to drift away

and I never want to die and go to their heaven, even when i believed in being saved I wasn’t ready for that ever after

Still careening down the road, thanks, I have adventures to see

So many unseen

That I want to write things that wrench free out of the weary bones holding me back but I look very carefully at the way I was raised and have nothing to take but the love of stories and trees and cats

And singing songs in the dark

But this was just a poem about parents and how the silence is so loud

When I mention a girl

Not even that i want to hold her hand in mine and touch her lips

No, not even that.

They don’t deserve to know her name when they won’t say it.

the sea is calling me

I was up before the dawn,

Listening to the sea calling me home

The bed is soft and warm, as you lay beside me

But the sea is calling me

 

I kiss your forehead and watch you sigh

The sea is calling me

 

Down the path in the dark to the white sandy beach

The endless rolling waves of green and black.

The dawn is coming and the sea calling

 

And I listen to the sound of my heart,

restless and content in each beat

The sea is calling me

And you are there still asleep when I return home.

spring’s coming

In spring my thoughts turn to Robin Hood 
After a long winter’s slough
I rise
Shedding my heavy coat for one 
Of Lincoln green
It is that tune again, that plays restlessly in my mind at night 
It is that wind that rustles, murmuring 
Round the house and through the halls
Calling, calling, me 
To walk out in the green 
To run in the twilight forest shadows 
To whisper amongst the soft pale leaves and tell the tales that must be told 
Once more 

It is spring and Robin Hood
Has come again 

write what you know

“Write what you know”
okay.

I am small, I am afraid, I am worried.
I exist in a forest.
The trees are green and brown and gray
the sky is out there.

I taste sweet and bitter all at once,
not all the same, not every day
but sometimes my salt is too strong for you

There are dragons in my heart,
tigers in my eyes,
crows in my hair

I am not as small as I once was
I still worry

longing, yearning, wanting,
missing reaching, wanting

I want so much

distance, oh the miles, oh the faraway trains
in my long-ago dreams, carry me on and on

notebooks are the best places to put your words
words are the script of your heart

if you write a song and sing it softly
no one but you hears it
no one but the shadows and the quiet
that’s okay
it’s a song just for you

my mouth is bursting with all the kisses I have to give
all the words I need to write
all the things I want to say

“How do you know these things?”
I just do.

“This isn’t what we meant.”
I know that too.

I know them anyway.
I write them anyway.

“if not now, never”

the wine bottle that’s stood on the porch window
since summer, now holding
the occasional cigarette butt

the tea candles in the bathroom
on the table, by the microwave, everywhere
leftover from dates

the cork behind the laundry bag, just tucked away
chilling in the corner

the swimsuit back from the sauna,
hanging on the rack to dry

all of these I leave, as signs of how happy
my sister is these days

Sunday morning

Get up before noon and write three poems
the lord wouldn’t want heard
in the pews of his house

the devil laughs and doesn’t care
he’s gone out walking today
the sun is bright
and the day is fine

there are words on the tip of my tongue
and the tips of my fingers
and they are whispering to be freed

in ink and skin
and promises and time
will let us spend them
and share them with the day