She Really Is

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She is not He
Nor an It or an If

She is Where It’s At, Has Always Been, and Forever More Will Be

Where If Goes To Become

She is Where He Needs To Be Attending To

She Really Is

She Is Peaches and Mittens
August Fire, Mountain Avalanche
She Is Baseball and Criminal

There’s no more Not Knowing Such Love

She Is Leading Me

Past Time: Her Haiku

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Fuck this very zoo
Where captivity drives you
To regret your eyes

*****************

Consecrated Girl
Born for a time such as this
You have been called up

*****************

Equal in this pen
Harken back now to the days
‘fore you suffered snakes

Original Inspiration Credit:
“The determination of thy will shall be yielded to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.”
– Genesis 3:16
“[F]or if you remain silent at this time…you and your family will perish…who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”
– Esther 4:14

Rod & Reel

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Move amongst who’s quick to quip
“I love you,” and the like
Together, if even apart

Find yourself offering up applause
Whether they crush it
Whether they barely manage a tick

An, “atta boy”
An, “atta girl”
In this life and beyond

Solstice in June

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Life I don’t recognize
Here nonetheless
Borne out of The Summer of Love

My first days
My always
Enamored with Solstice in June

Seek True North with me
Kick ass in the dugout with me
Help make love familiar again

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

Swipe Left

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Right this

Take us back to the shallow meeting place
To before the gravity of what was never a simple baseball game

Delete January
My I Love You
Your I Do Love You Too

Swipe left on me
Be unaccountable, actually

Take us to before November
To when we were less than digital

To when I was not here alone in your deep

Blackbird

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I’ll never trust your eyes
Always flashing early, often
Happy speaking lies against a good, good heart

I trust the strangers
Never needing to have seen
Somehow know the truth of me

I trust the front-yard flowers, too
Sometimes August-blooming poppies
Just for me, in June instead