Grandmother Crane had promised open doors,
Eyes wise and blue.
Yet I could not read the sky,
Clouds too heavy laid thick on my ribs.
Weeds twisting Hydra throughout the spaces.
My lungs squeezed tight until the roaring sound released,
Ice air at my feet on the edge of a precipice.
Following the constellation of my footsteps,
The Lynx calmly talked me down,
Exchanging tiredly turbulent waters
For winding roads of conversation on maroon couches.
I had to open my hands again, he said.
The Full Moon should soon be rising.
A patch of sandy light appeared in the window.
The Lynx opened the door and nodded his head,
Through shaking aspen skies I stepped,
Straight into the eyes of Orion.
The archer’s hand took hold of mine.
Can we go outside and talk?
And so followed the bowman sheathing his arrows.
On the deck of the treehouse,
We leaned over the railing before each other.
Wordlessness thrown into poorly shaped pots,
Branching out and tripping over the twigs.
Sometimes truth is choked out with fire.
Finally the midnight sun rose,
The night growing ever brighter.
“It’s been two Blue Moons since,”
He smelled like wild Redwood.
Surrounded by the nebula,
I found that we fit.
// I was trying to make it look like there were stars at my feet.
Something in the way that I walked.
But I’m not perfect.
But then there’s that dryad look in your eye.
I started out saying Hell no, but the letters got tangled despite myself.
That wasn’t one of the knots I learned last week.
Bowline on a Bight —
I’ve learned to be pleased with my calloused hands, but I’ve held so much.
And this mess in my stomach seems to twist and tighten, having been there in the first place.
Useless when the weapon changes.
The redwoods stand tall like a quiver of arrows, piercing clean through my cage.
When the trees woke up to dance with the wind —
There, wordless sounds whispered my real name.
The song rushed around in the branches, calling me to breathe in.
So I stood in a wild stillness.
Watched the full moon rage quietly in its mercury reflection on the black sea water —
Shining on new faces, new phases.
And then the constellations become clearest on the darkest nights.
You’ve piqued my curiosity. //
vulnerable uninvited unaware surprised unprepared strange
it was a moment, brief –
a second, split second
a saintly time a split sanctification
one moment of awareness
; this one time
once I saw everything you came uninvited you surprised me
I remember this where I see everything
hear heard I heard you I can hear you
found you found me
for once not afraid not afraid
(and) strangely calm calm it was so peaceful
my answer, your answer
a shooting star (out of) those calm stars
distinct how distinct
secret bridge secret garden secret waterfall
time left time dispersed
dwelled I dwelled we dwelled
beneath it all
only you and I know only we know
escape escaped I escaped we escaped
, our defense
my shelter quickly, shelter brief shelter
in this place
the only moment we were alone a moment of silence for once silence
take a breath when I breathed I could breathe I can breathe
we were breathing we breathed one breath
inhale inhale, exhale //
this moment that one moment
when we were alone a breath alone my lungs work
: I am oxygen I am air
I am the rush (I am) the flood
flooding everything flooding
— you see?
I see everything, I see nothing I hear everything, I hear nothing
I feel everything, I feel nothing
(for) I am timeless
Needles against my skin.
I’ll never be silk again.
Hurricanes and explosions, that is how you pump.
I can’t hear my heart, can you feel my chaos?
Can you feel, my chaos?
Blood transfusion is soiled.
And your beat is a black plague.
She asked, Can you stitch me up, darling?
I can’t hear my heart.
Can you stitch me up?
Sutures sunder wide, he severs
Beneath this sound, the
***a collaboration with my friend and fellow writer Jace Darcangelo, influenced by Dr. Glancy’s Advanced Creative Writing class and The Chariot (of course)
When I worked for my father at his office,
I noticed his shorthand for “Change” was a triangle.
“△ Michelle’s salary to __”
When you brought me a necklace made of leather string
Tied through a single sliver of deer antler
with a triangle cut out in the center–
I knew there would be no northern lights
Or flowers for me to hang from the ceiling–
Your shorthand by drill bit was clear.
Chapter II. ευδαιμονια
And I speak of this φιλια, that is my sacrament. What I hope to become, to engage, to embrace; inextricably We. Not only regard, but hold out my hands aware with faithfulness, empathy. Keeper of virtue so that between You and I comes We. That I would speak, write letters out of my head, call out of my shell, and make my bed there under the sky. Doors wide, arms unfolded, ears open. So we shall sit in hours of bright, in hours of dark; in watery eyes, in full, in empty. Carrying our bones. Together, in stasis, in motion; to Pass That, whatever it is. To reject Reciprocity, aim for such καλοσ. This is true Justice, my δικη. And so maybe I can speak of this φιλια, my sacrament. And perhaps I can speak of this φιλια, my ευδαιμονια.
ευδαιμονια–The flourishing life