Friday, October 19, 2018

ode to a pulse beneath


when she laughed I knew home
calling in falling leaves heavy skies wide hipped denim clad women
she laughed rough stars and all the snark that reclaims our joy
she laughed good dirt
and the secrets to loving through relentless pain
she laughed loud cackling fuck this shit still alive flames and flowers
its been some 15 years but I woke this morning with a night gift
  and I could hear her laughing
I could feel what it gave me
what it dislodged, turned out and lit
and I wept for missing rough unabashed joy in my life
everything is so serious now
counting bones and years like coins
so often alone, all that snarky joy tucked into potting soil
and boxes of ash
I’m casting this poem like spell
I’m calling in a night storm
I’m asking for flames and flowers.

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