The Musician
whose violin haunts these rounded hills with a thread of sound? which spins through aspen lays grief in sloughs weaves through bent grass to enter my cabin like a violent sunrise
Read MoreThe Snare Drum is My Genesis, Part 1
in my beginning is my end before i knew the drums i felt the creek’s funky beat— heard the sublime range harp & Wild West whistle the soundtrack of wood thump wire click & real thunder in my book of music self i could not embrace the parlor piano nor my father’s proficient clarinet. i chose the way of the rebel rancher’s daughter my first drum teacher was my mother who could kick my ass on the snare—rip out whip-crack flams, five-stroke rolls, & ratamacue stagings, not unlike a fearless firm halter snap against the chaos of animal...
Read MorePieta: The Mary of Michelangelo
She’s a fulcrum of that moment when piety loses heart and tilts to unbelief. Her left hand falls open to ask, Why? Like Job she accepts God’s power, but with a dead son in her arms, her understanding falters. She bows her head, surrendering to the crushing mystery. An elegant vessel of grief, she’s larger than the vanquished form she holds. The ample folds of her robe can’t swaddle him into warmth, nor her full breasts nurse him back to health. The artist has placed her where we all go in despair— inside a memory. There, too young for this grown son, she’s an...
Read MoreRosary
Hail Mary Full of grace Blessed are you among women And blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus The baby had colic and money was tight She was not always patient. Sometimes at night she wept Watching his finally-sleeping face Stroking the tiny foot that would one day be a man’s Fearing what hurt she’d done him in her pain Holy Mary Mother of God Pray for us sinners Now and at the hour of our death You get the child you get, not the one you’re ready for When his passion overwhelms him She tries to keep him safe But she can’t understand the things he sees Sometimes...
Read MoreAn Early Exit
My eyes grow weary with gazing upward. —Isaiah 38:14 ~I~ “We don’t get out much anymore.” That’s how she puts it, trying to swat a fly and finish telling her pastor why her Coley keeps holed up in his shop out back with this hankering to put life in a headlock and squeeze until there’s a pop and blood from the nose, why there’s no more church, not with those Holy Rollers leapfrogging in tongues to impress. God? Sure, but even so. “His knees ain’t what they used to be.” I nod. Either...
Read MoreLust and the Holy
I lust for you at sunset Your gold your shimmer I crave your wild display Your crimson your fuchsia your peach I yearn for you on the mountain I want what you give to the moon I want to know you carnally in every form of the holy Elephant-headed Ganesha wrap your trunk around me Blue-stained Krishna meet me where the lotus blooms Mantis Coyote Raven show me the tricks of desire And you, O nameless one, you fire that is never...
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