somewhere your hands are in dough infused with cinnamon
chocolate shavings and dried cranberries you knead & roll
this sticky firm mass on a flour-coated board as if forming a fist
but there is no violence in this process only tenderness
like an infant’s back lifted upward in one motion once satisfied
you tear off pieces with a light squeeze & mold them into balls
placing each one on a buttered baking sheet to rise
i taste what you have made my bitter-sweet tongue wanting
to become like dough once in your hands crafted into something
worthy of love not what is before me now a plate of chocolate
streaks cranberries & crumbs i leave the dish uncleaned for days
unable to scrub evidence of you & your tender labor
Gathered with sibling and parents
at the dinner table, I watch
my father’s long, mahogany arm
stretch over to my mother, seated
at his side, and knead her neck
like dough, teaching me a lesson:
sometimes keeping two souls tied
does not require words.
–For Jacques Derrida
Each morning we awake
to the death of our fantasies:
She with straight, silky hair
He with abs taut as
djembe drum skin
She with eyes a frosty marine,
He with upper-body
sculpted & defined
She less assertive, more docile;
He more intelligent, less obtuse
someone we can each wake up to
without loathing or regret,
without pity or guilt,
A body baring a dream,
not an authentic being.
A thirst of affection seeks
the unrepentant soul.
Like Helen drawn by Paris’s charm,
the Light pursues an avenue to the heart.
My inmost being is rebellious.
It halts heaven’s advances with barricades
of human will and stone walls of human id,
making no room for the beckoning of glory.
I yearn the Light’s abduction;
for it to lead me to that place
hidden from the searching gaze
of my condition.
May this heart of mine be ransomed
with the blood-price of redemption.
May it be rescued from profane restoration,
keeping me in bondage to the Divine.
do not vault yourself from me.
Please, give me a code that unlocks
all your pains, secrets, agonies.
I am a student, so educate me
until I can recite each fact
in your life story.
The stage is yours,
so narrate your inner tragedies.
Stand with me, off-load those honest
memories that left mine-fields in your heart:
What Daddy did and didn’t do;
what Mommy said and didn’t say;
how the first time wasn’t by choice;
how dark urges clouded all sense of purpose.
Share your issues and I’ll share mine.
Let us plant new orchards
in the desert of our past lives.
What use would
to aid my feelings
If crimson hues
across the soul
then mine is sky blue
not from melancholy
when I’m apart from you
but from the thought
of our union
lifting us to unbound realms
beyond man’s lofty reach
So teach me how to speak
those words I deeply lock away
Beyond cards, roses, chocolate hearts
just stay, listen, forgive my mistakes
help me grow wings to join you
as our love departs this cage
of human age