what I want is that. wanting want. shearing want. searing want. curled toes. stomachache want. not the same as desire. let me stand next to your fire. burn it, churn it, a whole mountain gets lifted overhead. some strange medicine. draws me in, like some heroine.
what's between is what counts.
deep sadness lifted overhead. hurled. chucked. chunked. rid of me. wrap my legs, and I'm on fire.
unquenchable thirst. her thyroid and her thighs, opening and closing, rising and falling, eyes on a belly. lungs flutter and fill under ribs. heart pushing up against and cracking the whole thing apart. desire, her unmet holy one met. the passion of poetry. of thigh to thigh, mouth to mouth, resuscitate me.
want what's best, what will make you feel alive now and again, desire your life to be full, for you to find and be love, joy, free. desire to leave this body this earth in my own joy of my own volition having lived having loved having wanted having had having been desire.
well, we've done want. there is that.
desire is deeper. longer. arches. aches. throbs, thrums, hums, strums, plucks at a heart and a belly full of soul.
now go back and see if this works.
what you, what you want
is deeeeeesire.
slurp.
juice it up.
drink it in,
loosen it up
close your eyes
feel it.
send it in a circle around the earth and sun.
it all comes back. like this white shell. this sticky key. this ragged lock. this red fan. shattered pot. broken kite. blue coil. gold egg. silver bottle. hum.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
[present]
not the past nor the future but the, you know, present.
it's a gift to be present. and simple. tis a gift. tis a gift to be present to yourself, your kids, your lover, your life. open me up like a present, like a ring around the rose is a rose is a rose is a ring. round. i spin round, i spring forth, i present myself! i am god's gift. i am the future. i was the past. i'm now. i'm never. it's now. or never. please present yourself accordingly, and don't forget to wipe your feet.
she is thin paper shatterproof glass criss-cross applesauce infinite gesture. a wing, a warp, a woof, a rooftop pedigree, manicured lawn, pedicured feet. precious. a present. all dew and done. lotus-like, false lashes, black thick lash load. precious tears on dewy cheeks. bones like barricades, lids like shutters, mouth a ripe fig a rose.
my boy so in the now, the present perfect intense. who kicks it tears it up apart. rips it all open and hands it back to me, my heart. the jewel in the box, the diamond in the flowerbed, the sleeping bud under the earth. under the water. bad robot presents: lost. so lost in the now, she's fine.
be here now. be peace now. be peace.
i'm here now. i was here, and then i wasn't. some people are gone. some couldn't be present. they had previous engagements, rings to run, cycles to spin, clouds to touch, songs to swell in their throats.
enigmatic, present. the day. it burned like any other day in my mind. vast relief. sigh. want. wish. wish you were here. present. among us. with me. beside me. near.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
[muffin]
lovin'. big muffin mama. belly wide like a table. crumbly like an old book. jolly like a sack full o' jelly, belly. by living large i didn't mean huge. even post birth, post traumatic, post secret, post haste. waste of a waist. how does it taste? delicious. creamy. dream come true. nothing like it. muffin like it. some like a muffin hot out of the oven. some like it on top, with cheese. some like to be on the bottom, the receiving end of the line. how's that for a line? going from L to XL. excelling and yelling. rebel, rebel, i've torn my dress and my face is a mess and my muffin top is hot. it's spicy. it plays nice. it stays cold as ice. can i give you some advice? how about accept yourself, just the way you are? how about tune out the static of a million voices in your own head telling you you're not right, something's wrong, you're too big, you're too small, you need to expand, you need a contract. you need contact. and you're stacked. those odds, they are against you. if i said i had a beautiful body could i hold it against you? mom's milk dries up over time, the silk within the bulk and ilk without. undone pants. undone mind. relenting fiction. descending uterus, warm to the touch, cold for herbs. fiery and full, bloat float. let's just put the pancake right on the hip. i shoot off my mouth, from the hip. fat lip mommy. black eyed elisabeth, dark circles and no sleep. what's the solution? what's the salve? how far should i run? how many miles have i tread? when will this frozen shoulder thaw and then what? putting the muffin back, top rack. hot cross buns. eat your heart (and your muffin) out.
Friday, April 13, 2012
[stuff]
surrounded by. surroundsound. all around, stuff. the chair, the animal, the bird. things. stuff things. stuffed things. things n' stuff. force fed. a foot nailed to the floor, let's fatten this up. stuff it. stuff and fluff, the ingredients for clouds, dreams, conversations. thing. ring. around, form a circle. stuff it with a square. don't let them know how you really feel. don't know how you really feel. stuff it. stuff the bitter, the anger, the losing it mama. stuff your mouth full so you will just shut up. so you will not say it. so you won't scream it. so you won't tell it. bite your tongue. don't tell. keep it secret, stuff it till it bursts you open, apart. shove it down. keep a secret about stuff, keep cannon fodder, the anger of your love, pushing down on your vocal cords down into your gut where you will feel it, not heed it, feed it and not heal it. know it. in your gut, where it rolls around. where it pushes out with its elbow. where it grows and grows until it pops you open. all the stuff of mad woman in the attic, mad woman in the kitchen, mad woman picking the kids up at school, mad woman having half a conversation, an incompletel sentence, a life sentence, a little levity here, a few things but nothing to stuff or shove down the throat. just a cheese sandwich and an opinion, thanks. just a small childhood and a small childhood dream deferred with the dishes, please. just a dream, just stuff is all
Saturday, September 10, 2011
transition
nearly there. wonder at the power inherent, contained, exploding forth. mystery and knowledge, expansion and contraction exist in the same breath. it is that time we as women know in our bones. and I am immersed in it, swimming, floating, struggling. triumphant, brave, awesome, terrified. countdown, 10...
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
[Did You]
ever want so badly to just pour out all the words that are feelings stacked like swallowed gods inside you, rock like, taking up space the feelings are. They are feelings of doubt and shame and sadness and anger and they have names like "Mother" and "oil changes" and "work" and there is this weight that pulls each of your once light steps down firmly into the earth where your toes get dirty no matter how clean you try to keep them.
You know you can't pour those words out. Everyone has them, no one wants to hear them.
You know you can't pour those words out. Everyone has them, no one wants to hear them.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
[broke]
The Buddhists say we must create from a place that is broken/open. I believe this. Nothing broke like my water, not before. Water in an unbroken line, before. The darshan of the dharana. The one-pointed, the stream. My son, who breaks me open every day, keeps me sculling in the ocean of my heart. Lost at sea, so to speak. So, to speak, to talk of what is broken, with a mouth that seems closed at all the wrong times, to write with a sinking feeling, a coffee cup with cracks in it. We keep gluing it back together, broken. Rich in love, we are yet broke. Pockets of currency, currents of love. I need a break. Will it break me? Giving birth, sucking up death, facing fear at every turn, my seams seem to scream. Bursting. A heart as big as a whale. A long crying out. A smile at dawn. The day breaks me again, and the night closes over us. Cowboy sheets and covers, a hole in the quilt, he now knows the word "gun," and I'm done. Line break. Empty space. Return.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
[small]
Small hands and tiny eyebrows resting over sweet skin, pink cheeks and cornsilk for hair
as they sleep and breath and exhale a sweet scent that I have breathed since it was inside me.
I made that scent from my blood and milk.
They are like honey to me honey filled still with bees that warm and sting,
that fly by my head and remind me of love and health and
my body a living sculpture growing life
which now grows me.
-jg
as they sleep and breath and exhale a sweet scent that I have breathed since it was inside me.
I made that scent from my blood and milk.
They are like honey to me honey filled still with bees that warm and sting,
that fly by my head and remind me of love and health and
my body a living sculpture growing life
which now grows me.
-jg
Thursday, April 21, 2011
[share]
who can do this? what is too much/too little? i want what's mine. and then some. i've learned that children are incapable, really, of doing this. i've learned that i can close like a frozen flower/mistakenly weeded out/dessicated petals/roots still buried under the fertile earth/hidden by leaves. roots entwined with big towering trees/not quite choking me off. my share my offering is rust/ashes from my father's funeral pyre/love songs/my simple intentions/a daily prayer only i ever see/the portion of/the piece of pie/the creation of the whole/holy/slash/burn/divided words/broken into puzzle pieces, my mind and heart/the missing feathers of a cowbird/a contribution that cannot be measured by any means/God's means/release from suffering in a small gesture, a mother's fingertips in his hair
Monday, January 3, 2011
[after]
oh, the timing. and the mining of time. the gold of the moment hidden, running on dirt before dawn. sounds of a house. dust and doors closing. fresh air, cold skin. bitter morning. dark cup. warm water. everyone in this house, even the chihuahua, is coughing. warmed feet on hard tile. shall we use the big pan or the small one? what's clean? dirty? dry? wet. the duality of thought, the reality of what's in-between. the space before the space where thought takes form, where words emerge from images, feeling, sensory input. my own eyes. amber brown. eyes like lamps, lids for boxes. well, i can see you got your brand new leopardskin pillbox hat. imagine that. fancy for a mommy who doesn't even wash her hair. fancy for plain. dressed up and nowhere to go. the simple pleasure of the living room dance club. living for my son's morning smile. not wholeheartedly given today. and that's okay. i can take the after as well as the before. the laughter and the chore chart. my heart, an open wound. my heart, some arms extended. my heart, never to lose and never to return to its original clean slate.
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