I’m Sorry

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I am not a mechanism, a tool
Some structure
By which, if you employ, you may use to heal old wounds

Nor are you for me
These scars have nothing to do with you
You may not attend to them

While I hunger
While you hunger
We are not consumables

We are afire
We are to touch and be touched
While considering what time has in mind

Holding Space

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Would that all who’d seen fit
To have been unkind to me
Have their childhood wounds healed

Here, look from my window

Flower and vegetable gardens
Fruit tree and fire pit
Baseball, my love, baseball

As I Stand Today

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Ode to the she-stranger, whom I never met

Yesterday, upon my knees

“Respiras,” my aura begged her

Then quietly and years ago, she-stranger did oblige

As if she wore my atoms, said for only me to hear

“You lucky, lucky girl.”

Original Thought Credit: Marty McConnell’s “FRIDA KAHLO TO MARTY McCONNELL”

Miso Not So Bad

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Shaved brussels
Not yet past their prime
Fresh peas, though the ideal
Unneeded, now, to build this meal

Please pray with me
My dying wish — the miso’s not gone bad
In the refrigerator way

Kitchen shears that snip-snipped happily at chives that waited just for me
All
Summer
Long
Somehow found their way to the floor
Could be an honest omen, or
A sign of what’s to come

Not my garden’s tomatoes, fool
They’re for another day!

Please forgive the white, white rice
Devoid of what I crave

Sesame to remind me and tofu hacked haphazardly
Tamari, I wish

Here, this delicious dish