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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