raging

to contain rage.
learning seems eternal.
scream flames taller than this house.
grow claws to tear down innocent bystander telephone poles.
uproot fire hydrants.
scream monuments into space.
bloody one's knuckles against asphalt
and ferociously lick it up until half the hand is gone.
bite down hard enough to shatter every tooth.
pull yards of hair up by the root.
fall into fetal position,
semi-circle of helplessness.
cry until the ducts stop working.
lap up one's own salt puddle with bared teeth.
a warning that this dog is not to be approached.
panting deep to warn the children away.
feel the rage consume the belly.
vomit the bile of 28 years.
ultimately, when the endorphins stop blasting
you will fall into yourself.
collapse.

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and then again

nightmares on the marble
in front of the haunted building.
this is the entry way
with mini revolvers
and federal agents.
so many spirits on the first floor
seeking solace in others' memory.

if we count our dead and otherwise departed
we are left with an abundance of empty spaces
we fill only with spirit in dreams.

i recount my foresight and second guess
why i didn't think to warn.

from across town,
almost two hours away,
his fear and adrenaline woke me up.
i jolted into 90 degree upright position
covered in night sweat and seeing.
reached for the crystals at my bedside
they trembled and howled and pierced my heart.
their message was deafening
but i couldn't understand it.
so now again.
i light a candle in the name of two kids
whose souls intertwined and pain feeds the other.

the burden of intuition and premonition and seeing.
sometimes i wish it hadn't been me.

had i been born with less magic
i could suffer tragedy in tears and loss.

instead knowing that i knew
makes me make magic
with all of my heart.
i fall asleep in spite of myself,
because of my hope strain.
i gave him all of me to make it.
fear that all of me is not enough.

and then again i wake up.
i am still on the steps
or the bed
or the sunshine
or my guardian moon.

like an appliance i plug back in.
charge myself with elements and intention.
i am going to be alright.
and that is what ultimately
feels like my demise.

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returning

i retreated to the harlem river. it smells like metal, tastes sour on the tongue, feels silky on the skin. leaves a film like memories you can't wash off with lava soap. emulsification is null and void. i am harlem river dripping, iridescent trail that sticks uphill. i am in the lots and spaces between project buildings, i am putrid funk of dredging, i am most familiar to myself in this dingy wash. i am coming back home.

the air is still stagnant. it is beginning to smell. i can smell it over my dirty river opalescence. something needs to move. stir. change.

i cannot command it to. not yet. my thumbs tucked between pointer and middle fingers, hoping/dreaming. in despair i know that there is no turning time back. only these moments when all is still. and i want to rearrange, but rearrange what? rearrange who? it will not undo death or addictions or broken hearts or learned outlooks, or tangible sorrow.

Slow incline in beaming sun- my skin reddens in places: the tip of my nose, the rounded peaks of my cheekbones, the backs of my calves. i move slowly, i begin to recharge. i am home. light beams from my pores. i glisten. i shine despite my conviction. there is something magnetic here. it draws me in ways i cannot control. pulls me back to knees pressed into chest, pulls me back to toes in mouth completing circuit, pulls me back to before i became conscious of myself. myself in relation to this. myself as different. the gift/curse dichotomy. the static here makes my ears ache. my fingernails brittle. despite my conviction it also makes me glow, fuels me. holy ground at times. it's where i plug in. where i can sense the subtlest movement; in touch with the earth shift. fire ignites in my belly. we want everything warm warm warm. in the heat of summer and nothing moving i hope to make it warm again. and if i didn't know any better, i'd think everything is suspended in the humidity's thickness.

painful source of origin with your bloody noses, resold food stamps, canned dinners, and the sting of under-harnessed energy. i lay at the foot of the building. wondering whether the 5th floor walk up will still creak in the same places. my face is pressed into the cement steps. i stare at the abandoned milk crates, card table and dominos. the lights flicker from green to yellow to red. i feel the sparks fly off my fingertips. release in spasms in my thighs. the reflex action of letting go. the kind of movement that even i cannot command. i have never felt more natural. it's as if i'd bloomed from concrete. i am wildflower in street cracks. i am home.

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