“You’re being unreasonable.”

She wants to pound the meat of her fists against stone.
Bloody them.
Press them against the blank canvas of her face.
Leave behind a bright butterfly of rage,
And scream that life is not all reason.

In fact –

Much of what she’s been taught is irrational and unreasonable.
That “you’re being unreasonable” truly means, “you’re not cooperating with what I want”.
This is her experience.
This is what she learned as a child.

Not truth. Nothing so pure as reason.

Good girl.
She doesn’t complain. Doesn’t cause trouble.
What does a good girl get?
Nothing but crumbs of peace. Stolen solitude.
What does a good girl become?
An angry woman.

(February 22, 2009)



I will love you with a child’s heart.

Full of trust – openly, wholly, unwilling to share, with gifts of crayoned art.

I will love you with the heart of a teen.

Full of idealism – temperamentally, jealously, with your name written over and over on my possessions.

I will love you with a mother’s heart.

Full to overflowing – patiently, proudly, with open arms, bandaids, and cookies still warm from the oven.

I will love you with the heart of a soldier.

Full of honor – diligently, protectively, always on guard and at attention.

I will love you with a thief’s heart.

Full of greed – stealthily, quietly, stuffing my pockets with your treasures.

I will love you with the heart of a coward.

Full of fear – diffidently, cravenly, my belly scraping the ground as I plead for mercy.

I will love you with a fiery heart.

Full of heat – passionately, dangerously, offering you heat and destruction.

I will love you with the heart of an artist.

Full of vision – colorfully, boldly, creating monuments to your beauty.

I will love you with a human’s heart.

Full of caprice – unsteadily, undeservingly, with feet of clay and Achilles’ heel.

I will love you with all my heart.

All my flawed, bleeding, feeble heart.

(May 2014)
*’undeservingly’ fit better somehow than ‘undeservedly’ (even though it’s not a real word). It’s poetry; I make my own words.

For Mike


I want to set the dogs on it.
Ferret it out of the darkness.
Startle it from its hidey-hole.
Make it bolt. Make it run, panicked.
Blind, naked, revolting, furless parasite.
And when they fall on it,
I want them to rip out its hammering heart.
Rend it to pieces.
Call the dogs.

(May 2014)
Written for a friend diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in May 2014. Mike passed on January 19, 2015. Rest in peace, friend.