I'm a business woman trapped in an artists mind, a classic internaliser and a loveaholic
I Know You
I pulse with you under my skin.
Delicate hair stands up as I quiver when you think of me.
In secret, I have felt your wanting.
Left momentarily mad with desire,
my body engulfed in wildfire.
My fingertips write love letters on your neck,
my lips leave rose petals on your eyelids.
I am forgetful of everything but the tilt of your smile.
Will you hold me for two more minutes?
Primordial Artist
The Macrocosm, my Mother.
She bore us and sang to us as children.
Her reminiscent and nostalgic wind still guides me home.
She is a true creature of creation.
The primordial artist.
Her imagination, the DNA,
Within every consciousness.
I want to love in a way that makes my Mother proud.
My muse, my maker,
I see your untranslatable scribes etched into my walls.
I hear your bird’s song.
Voiceless and wordless I impatiently await your lectures.
Show me your allegiance to life.
The Best Non-Date
Silver strings pull at the heart while the waves search for our toes.
The cool kiss of wind on the nape of my neck intoxicates me,
with trembling knees,
the draw of you collides into mind.
Radio Stations
I can feel your dreams and breath so heavy
like a child on a teeter-totter.
Trying to balance but the sway from floor to sky keeps beckoning.
Skin humming from the day,
sunshine still glowing in the warmth of your long, raven hair.
Muscles give way to the weight of the room,
A room filled with unease, unrest…
A love abounding with innocence,
wistfulness and all-encompassing.
Enough to blanket the starry ceiling
flickering around me like a shaken snow globe.
A familiar and frequent reverie.
You’re my favorite radio station.
I moved again this weekend! This was my 20th move in 12 years. Surprisingly enough, or unsurprisingly enough, depending on how well you know me, this will likely not be my last move either. However, it is such a beautiful next step on my journey. No longer in an apartment, I have settled into a quiet suburban neighborhood with a middle school field right across from my adorable duplex. (It’s basically a house that has been split into two units.)
Our neighbors are all so welcoming and I couldn’t be more grateful. We’ve received mint from our new friends garden, another neighbor, and her husband of 34 years, helped us move in our heavy furniture when they saw me panting and struggling to carry it on our front lawn and our closest duplex neighbors are an adorable young couple expecting their first little one.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “home” lately. Its definition is a fairly clear statement that ‘it’s where one lives’. But humans, as a species, have defined a home as something so much more than that. My home growing up was chaotic and turbulent and oftentimes not where I wanted to be – so I’ve spent 12 years searching for what I considered and expected a home to feel like. A safe, sacred and warm place filled with love, intention, gentleness, and welcoming. A refuge for friends or for passersby. Food, tea, compassion, kittens, and blankets abound!
But no matter how beautiful the decorative pillow accents or the walnut mid-century modern pieces are, there has been one learning that has taken me these 12 years to discover. This Earth, in all of her magnificence, glory, and wonder is my home. With her creaking floors and high ceilings, her bright open windows all the way to her sometimes tilted foundation. I can move to any place in this world and be at home – and I’m so glad I’ve learned this.
Laying in the Redwood Forest
Heaven isn’t far, it’s simple to see,
Embraced by song, your skin, stars dangling,
A sparkling symphony.
To touch your hand and to make a promise,
Planting intentions, wishes, kisses.
Forever, represented as a redwood tree.
Growing and expanding the uncomfortable new roots make way in the soil.
Bursting open, the sprigs.
Seeking sunshine.
Carrying nourishment from the roots,
Gathering golden light,
Dancing in the divine of creation,
Of new life.
Heaven is a word.
But I am at home in your forest.
I am so exhausted. I have had crippling nightmares & night terrors since I was a young girl. In large part due to the trauma, but I do wish it would let me rest. Nowadays, mostly, my sleep has improved – but for the last month, it has regressed. I feel a lot of fear while falling asleep, or my mind just won’t settle. Last night, it stirred and daydreamed and created elaborate scenarios that will never come to pass. Here’s to the children that never received lullabies, the sleepless and the weary.
Morning Kisses
My evening primrose. I am laying in the grass of your dreams while you are soaking in lavender.
Rest your heavy head, close your almond eyes and breath in my fantasy of forever youth, the joy of illumination from the moon that sits too low.
One day my indirect poetic prose will uncover the words to tell you, my love, how I kiss all the children before I fall asleep.
Until then, good morning.
Purpose and Prose 