lord, please don't let me make a fool of myself.

i need to get some nerve. i ran out of my natural supply around age 12.

greenleaf

she sings these lilting, wandering songs that make no sense.
"fly, fly, fly and shake, shake, shake, and if i were a basketball player i would win the game and tweet, tweet, tweet, i win the game today. please fly like me today. ok."

then she shakes her head, pushes her glasses up on her nose and proclaims "Aslan is on the move today." before starting a rambling conversation with an invisible Mr. Tumnus.

when she sneezes she brings me her doctor's kit and demands an examination.

this is what her life is like. set up in 4 minute intervals.

"two hundred thirty" she says looking at the thermometer and then back up at me hopefully. " yes" i say, "that sounds about right."

now she dances away, "achoo. achoo. i'm sick. but i can play with you a little bit. a little bit? yes. hey, spin with me. jump like this, jump like this, make it scream, make it scream. you can turn into a fluffy bear and wear... HEY!" now she looks back at me "mama, are wear and bear rhyming words?"

"yes" i answer.

she nods her head. it's just as she suspected.

now she has climbed up into the wardrobe and is closing the door.

sometimes i feel like she's not really here. she's only a sparkle, a lost stream of my consciousness. she's a little gypsy moth just waiting for strength to lift off and disappear.

"Love and some verses you hear..."

it's not always what you say that makes the difference
between a good night and a bad.
it's the words left hanging,
like rice in a wedding picture.
i want to pluck them from midair and place them, jasmine sweet, on my tongue.

when i'm alone, i'm just that

there are some people and it's hard to believe that
there is space between them.
there are people and they laugh,
"i never saw your face look like that".
and sometimes they pray,
" surely goodness and mercy...."
they connect in the dry spaces between the rain.
"remember when we danced all night and finished all the airplane liqueur we could find?"

"who do you think you are?"
who do you think i am?

brush against my skin and leave your mark.
you'll become my history.

Maggie May (open wounds and a dream dressing)

last night i had a dream.
it had to be a dream because
i have no memory of his eyes ever looking like that.

they held the summer sky within them.
they held years.
years filled with juice glasses, oil changes, and
barefoot children in the backyard.

between the pointed green lawn and his father's angry glare,
he stood and implored.
unrecognizable in his warmth.
beautiful in his need.
my hands on the steering wheel,
had no place else to be but gone.

that was the dream.

reality was a tragic scene played out in ice blue contempt.
impassioned hands reaching from a car window,
and shining black hair striding away.