my beauty

I've always wanted to write about loving women --- I never quite found the courage - until now. My goal was to write a beautiful poem 



Lying naked on my bed

Arms stretched over my head

She tells me not to move

Without thinking I move my arm

With one simple movement

My arm is put back in place

She leaves

In the shadowy darkness of my bedroom

I watch her turn and walk away

Her beauty follows her

Cloaked in confidence

          And sometimes

                 Wrapped in loneliness

I wonder how far I will go

Naked on my bed

Arms stretched over my head

Waiting

Under the cover of darkness

My strapped beauty returns

Her confidence belays her beauty

I watch her closely

My back arches preparing for her

As she returns to my bed

I am released

With anticipation high

I open my legs and reach for her

Pulling her close to me

Inside me

I know that she can feel

Every

Movement

I

Make

Each one is calculated to please her

To resonate through her body

Excite her

I have always loved feeling a woman’s weight on my body

And she is no exception
The rhythm and motion
Excite
And
Comfort

When we are together

My body is always supported

I am never uncomfortable

With her left arm under the small of my back

She holds tight

She tells me she can feel

Every breath

And

Every movement

She will match my

Breathing and movements

As she matches my movements

Our bodies meld

With courage and vulnerability

I give in to her

My body is hers

I will move when

        And how
               She tells me

With my vulnerability

Her beauty and strength shine through

She will now do

What I want

And be what I need

Looking over her shoulder I see

The first light of the sun

Always knowing that my satisfaction

Is first and foremost to her

She leads me to the point where I cannot stop

Bodies covered in sweat

We race to the end

She tells me that she wants my orgasm

and I tell her
that
I am ready

With an intake of breath

And an arch of my back

I am once again released

Followed closely by her

Our bodies bound together

Wrapped tight

Until the last

Of the energy fades

Winter Whistles

She walked up to me and said her name was Random

She said 
           her name 
                  was Justice

She said her name was Unfamiliar

She said 
           her name 
                      was Respect

She said her name was Honor

She walked into my life from the cold
Up the steep stairs to the entrance of my house
Listening to the ethereal noise that surrounds my life

Compared only to the far away sound of steel
train wheels against the tracks
So distant the clicks and clacks are lost in the cold air

Leaving only the beautiful
Whistling sounds to my ears

Anishinaabe Wandering

Kelsey on the Rez

In my car driving back into my history

People tell me how lucky I am
The beauty that surrounds
My knowledge tells me that
It is run down dirty and industrial

My car knows the way
Nearing the city
Stopping 
at the top of a hill

A cold blast of air greets me
Stop
Get out
Race around
Closing up windows

Keep distant the beauty
Barred by the industry that
Defined my life

Tucked in safe from the cold
The journey continues
Arriving at the lake that housed and fed my ancestors

Stepping out
The red dust covers my body
Entering every pore
Seeping deep
Down to
The molecular level
I am home

Walking along the shores of Lake Superior

Transfixed and transported
Back to the time of beauty

Before the shipyards
foghorns
oil spills
steel
and alcohol
scar my family

spin around - the Lighthouse disappears
the man made carved rocks
that mark the steps to the Lighthouse
explode and violently sink into the water

The destruction follows the path
The canal falls
the ships crumble

Moving back
before the glass beads and tobacco tins
of French fur trappers

Finally alone
Eagles, bears, turtles, cranes, foxes and martens
surround

Supported by the wisdom and love
of family and ancestors

The red dust is released
and forms a connectivity
to the sand and water

on the southern shores
of Lake Superior 

a love story for my brother

I've written and rewritten this story many times.
It's been 15 years since my brother Scott died from AIDS
The more I work on this piece and perform it
the easier it is to talk about his life

Poets know what I mean when I say "I'm free from the paper"

This is simply a love story

                                      

============================================================


one---my phone rings
                 and my mother's voice tells me that my brother is in the hospital.

two---I walk into a room and see a man.
                 My brother? Scott?
                         AIDS is clearly in the area he has that striking look they all seem
                                 to have.
            The nurses come and go.
                   The strong man who is my brother takes whatever they bring him.

three---days later. I'm there again at Regions Hospital
                Scott is handing my mother money to make his car payment.
                        I must me in the wrong place.

four---

five---

six----It's evening I'm with him again. The nurses tell me that he can hear me
                They ease back on the morphine                
                          I sit and talk and ask him why.
                                 He is without words.
                          I hold his hand, he squeezes back.

seven---It's late again. In the middle of the night the phone rings
               and I'm told to go to Regions. I'm the first one there.
                  There is a sea of blue scrubs and machines in his room
                         I look into Dr Marini's eyes. I am seeking reassurance
                              as  his deep dark brown eyes fill with tears.
                                  we stand and looked at each other
                                        I didn't know what to do
eight---

nine---

ten---From Scott's room, I look out the window into the darkness and
               see my favorite photo of a very young boy.
        He is standing with his back to me looking down at the grass.
              I will never know what he was thinking or why he chose the path that he did.
 

eleven---

twelve--- I know it is time. More people are with me now and My mother and father have arrived
                    No words are spoken.
                          morning comes, the sun rises and the shift changes
                     Scott's doctor is in the room. As she looks around the room saying
                        I don't know any of you
                       she stops, points at me and says except you.
                            She is Kelsey's pulmonologist        

thirteen---The last breaths are smoothe and gentle
                            deceitfully life giving.

fourteen---the day has arrived - hundreds of people gather
                 I hear great stories of his strength
                   the room is filled with laughter and music
                     people are surrounding me
                        hands are touching me
                          someone hands me photos

fifteen---My heart is filled  and for a moment the divine is with me.  
         

The very horrible bad day

I don't usually have very horrible bad days
but none the less 
it turned to that today

Starting this morning 
When I opened my eyes
the time was mistaken
I do not have the luxury of sleeping til 7

Let the dog out
now its 7:08
Shower quick and cold
no time to ponder the absence 
hot water

arrive at work 8:05
not too bad
my phone rings as it always does
I feel like some of the customers
are my friends 
I know their accounts so well

One of my best friends
is on the phone
I recognized her voice
calling to tell me there has been a mistake
I checked she's right

fixed it and
talked to her 3 more times
before the days end
will meet her tomorrow for the first time

My day flies by
no thoughts of cold water
until I reach into my mail box
Centerpoint Energy says I didn't pay
They say there's a lock

My bank account says that I did
I pay my account ahead for good luck
and call. The payment you see
didn't register as paid

She agreed that I did
reconnection with out additional fee
they will give me a call

8:00 am to 8:00 pm
I must be available at a 30 minutes notice

I know what you are wondering
why didn't I notice

The Y has been my after work
companion

and last night I didn't go

The Longest Day

What would you do if the day was as long as you needed it to be?

I would - -

Wash all of the clothes in my house

Turn over the earth and plant seeds in my garden

Sort and match all of the socks

Answer Tina's early morning text
   and meet her for breakfast

Talk to my mother so she would hear me

Write

Go for a run without pain

Bake bread, slice it when its hot, slather it with butter and eat it

Flirt with all of the interesting women that I meet

Stay up late/get up early

Water my garden

Hang my sheets outside

Weed my garden

Kiss some of those women

Fix Bobbies computer

Blow past the writer's block

Go for a really long walk

Get a vacation from diabetes - so I could eat and enjoy the bread

Share a bottle of red wine with my friend, Julie

Then go for a really long bike ride with her

Listen to the rain 

Take a nap

Go swimming with my guys Max, Fletcher and Mason

Wash all of the windows in my house

Stop by my friend Carole's house

Pet a greyhound and soak in her calming influence

Plan a road trip to no where

Start and finish a novel

Walk my dog as long as he wants 

   and let him eat with the big boys at Carole's house

Watch the flowers grow

Bring in the dried sheets

Sit on Anita and Gene's red couch and watch TV

Have an ice cold beer, while sitting on my deck

pick the flowers

Hang colorful lights on my deck

Invite Mary for dinner 

Prepare a fine meal

In case you are wondering

Mary is not one of the women I kissed earlier in my day

Mary and I will sit on my deck with Ebony at our feet and watch the stars come out

Breathe deeply to the bottom of my lungs

Make my bed with the sun dried, rain softened sheets

Kiss Mary and go to sleep

Fractures and splinters

My memories are clear - or are they?
Most of my memories of that time in my life are
fractured and splintered

life photos - filed away neatly in those dust proof boxes
safely tucked away in the recesses of my mind

fractured and splintered

I've been meaning to go down deep and open that box

fractured and splintered

I'll need to take a good long look at that box
Its been so long since I have seen it.
Do I remember what it looks like

Fractured and splintered

No - I stowed it away at a different time of my life
a time when photos of my life were taken
with out my knowledge or direct impact

fractured and splintered

That's no way to live my life
or keep my memories
What sparked those fractured and splintered memories

Its a question I have lived with
My friend - my tall friend with long flowing hair
and a laugh as gentle as the breeze

Those fractured and splintered snap shots of my memory
are slowly coming into focus.

I remember that she was the keeper of my stories, my tales
and all of my pain.

She provided me with the home that I needed to keep
those memories and stories from becoming fractured and splintered.

It wasn't enough for me
I couldn't see it
She was offering - - -
What was she offering

Shelter
Love
Safety
Friendship

It wasn't tangible

My life was fracturing - - NO I WAS -- fracturing and splintering
spinning and turning
Sometimes I wonder what happened 

As I begin my journey to the recesses of my mind
to that safe space - free from dust

fractures and splinters

That box that's been so carefully stored
kept free from dust
Its barely recognizable

fractured and splintered

Its not how I remembered it. Its covered in dust
I stare at it and wonder --- what happened

So safe it was in the recesses of my mind
free from dust
in that safe space

To put things in order 
the box must be opened
I reach deep and open it

The fractured and splintered photos of my life
lay in the box with a gust of wind
they fly free leaving the box

It becomes clear
The keeper of my stories and pain is gone
I let her go by not sharing with her what she gave to me

No longer fractured and splintered - the box is empty
and my vision is clear

She left to find a welcoming place to share her photos and keep
her stories from becoming - fractured and splintered

I used to wonder if she had lived a life

Now that the box is open and clear of fractures and splinters

Its clear to me that she lives

Gardening

Patience, time, aromatic memories and savory meals

Carefully tended
with expertise - water and sun

waiting for the seeds that have been planted
with
joy
experience
love
exasperation

toiling tasks
repeated over and over

releasing the pessimism from my nature would leave me bare

I hold tight but letting go is the way to flourish

stepping back and observing
taking a break

waiting for the tastes of the season

Beth Ann

My stories

are kept in the heart of my ancestors
along the shores of Lake Superior

Standing on sacred ground
in front of a tall tree
adorned with memories and tobacco ties
to my friend and cousin Beth Ann

I am feeling love
and comfort
and peace 
I look up
my head tilted all the way up to the sky

I hold my hands up in the air
my heart is open
rain drops come glistening down from the sky
followed by snow
hail
and wind

I stay until the sky clears
I am at peace

I have come here for clarity and leave with my heart filled 

Wisdom

Wisdom 
to you
is whiskey in a glass 
sitting alone on a table top

The amber color
catches the light
and splits the rays

Filling the space with

FIRE

She stands alone
with the light burning off the walls

Stuck in the past with the melodic tones of my voice
drifting through the air

Stay --- with --- me

spend the night ----

stay with me

The fire fades and the light returns to the glass
sitting alone on the table top.

Displaced hands.

Eight and ten year old hands 
                 no longer intertwined with mine. 

I open my hands 
            to see the shadows 
                    of 8 and 10 year olds receding. 

I close my eyes my for a moment,
                      opening slowly --- 

hoping to see their hands in mine.

128 - 178

My fate lies somewhere in these numbers
Mind jumbled up and loose
Every time I turn a corner
or 
look over my shoulder
My vision is distorted
Snapping back just a split second too late.

Every time this happens the stories in my mind are jarred loose.

Not too worry I tell myself.
There will be time later to tend to them.

There is a corner on the horizon
My mind jumbled in anticipation
My stories are already loose and
colliding in my mind.

they come to my conscience in bits and pieces
the bits make no sense to me
but I am bound to them
they follow me

I ask the ancestors for meaning and clarity

But all I see is the looming corner
I take the corner
Snapping my head to look over my shoulder
My vision returns even slower

I missed the red before
But got the flashing red behind me.

My fate is sealed in the price of the ticket that is
placed in my hand

The Bridge --

Spanning possibilities

Awakening strength

Opening strides

The path forward over the bridge

Allows the roar of uncertainty to pass below

It's not my story that I will tell on the bridge. 

Under the bridge paddling my kayak

I learn the power and wisdom of going backwards to move forward

Twisting and turning

Gliding around the pilings

The pilings that support the bridge

I learn it’s the structure below that carries the weight. 

I see the appearance of parallel lines

Those deceptive lines under the spans

Holding strong 

Water pressing

Pressuring

Clashing

Praise the bridge that carries me over...

It's not my story that is told on the bridge.

DYKE

Bar closing time
Standing alone on the avenue
The darkness surrounds me

Wrapped in winter wear
I step off the curb
Walk halfway and stop
A car is approaching

Expecting it to pass 

with windows up keeping the heat

The voice that comes to my ears 

seems almost foreign

Not immediately recognizing the sounds as words
It comes into tune
Just one word comes to my ears. 

DYKE!!! 

Spoken with force.  It slams into my ears. 

Standing beside my car with keys in hand 
I slide the car key in the lock and turn it clockwise 
Open the door and sit down 

I hear the word dyke

Dyke’s my word 

I'm not butch or femme.
Coming out I'd labeled myself
And didn't see the need for further classification

Gays are men

And lesbians are the radical older women of the 70's and 80's

who never seemed to have time for me

In their presence I was awestruck. 

They seemed so sure of themselves 
Moving with ease in a world that I found daunting. 

Sitting in the dark
Wishing and hoping that I'd find that ease
The cold envelops me
I turn the key
The engine returns to life. 
-------

The Snowman

Oh god I loved him.
Do you remember him?

I don't think I can do this anymore.


We met at Park house.

He was Polish.

I bought him a small snow globe it had a snowman.
He cried.

He said no one ---

He said no one ----

... He said no one loved him more than I did.

 Oh god I loved him.

 I

don't

think

I

can

do

this

anymore