I tell myself I’ll at least wait
till this snow melts
stay buried under blankets
like the dormant seeds outside
the sweet bubble of forgetting
that pops as I wake each day
would freeze out there
crystallize and crack
splinter into a thousand cuts
I’d rather die gently, remembering
letting the burst bubble splash
on my face into warm tears
watering these seeds
for another day
stretching into shavasana next to my child
softening our eyes, lengthening limbs
a memory surfaces from the deep pool of my slowly stilling mind:
that time when she was two
and she called up to the stars
in all her tiny exuberance,
“thank you
for my
great
big
mama!”
how I’ve mourned for the loss
of this sweetness as she’s grown
the simple connections
turning complex and muddied
watched her tumble and twist
our bond ebbing, flowing
and then
in the silence opening this space
like the great night sky answering
through her now grown body,
she touches a fingertip to mine
and we both giggle
quietly
tiki torches and yarn
can be bought at the same store
one for summer, backyard barbecues
the other winter, holiday snuggling
one bears heat, destroys
the other holds it in, protects
the bearer of the latter takes her time, crafts meticulously
shares her gifts with friends
to wear in solidarity, a signal to others of reason and love
the former’s alights it quickly, shares without thought
needs no hood nor signal for his message of hate, of fear
but fire can illuminate
and yarn can choke
pussies scratch
and racists learn
the question is:
what are you buying?
I’m afraid
someday we’ll make these fires
for different reasons
these explosions won’t be celebratory
we’ll have no marshmallows
nor sparklers
And we’ll remember
you and I
when this was just another fourth
when only the dog ran and hid
with every boom
and children marched
and we thought they were cute
pretending
we had a choice in it all
I’m telling you
when the little girl says
“I don’t want you to get
shooted”
to her handcuffed mother
after her father was shot
for
no
fucking
reason
when they were just getting
ice cream
and she says she’ll protect her
and I can’t
I can’t
I can’t even be in the same room
as that video
and I go outside
and I fall to the grey stoop
and I weep
and I weep
And the pink sky
with storm clouds moving
too fast
And the lightening bug
that lands in my hand
blinks yellow:
caution
but I could crush it with rage
I’m telling you
I don’t, but
I could
because
that’s all I have left
I could
I could
Shame on you
for making my heart
offered as a pillow
for you to rest your blue battered cheek to
your punching bag
swinging like a carcass on a hook
These hands that once held yours
as the ground shifted below you
offered to steady, to pull you back from rocky cliffs
only to be cut and splintered
asked why I’m hitting myself, why I’m hitting myself
why can’t these fingers that you broke
still touch you
These eyes, once flooded with tears
when you couldn’t yet cry your own rivers
washed the dirt and blood away to see
the bright glass pebble of you beneath it all
sparkling in the sun, your promise
veiled by your fear,
called ugly,
closed.
My love will not grow again
in such unwelcome terrain.
Think you’ve fooled me twice?
Shame on you.
when she was my friend
this scrawny bespectacled kid and I
would laugh and dance
admiring each other’s growth and passions
sharing this steady confidence in our closeness
this triumph
now there’s this wall
of phone games and animosity
the injustice of choosing to love
how I wasn’t loved
while the lonely mystery of what I did this time
still haunts this bathroom corner
where I’m the teen again
afraid to ask
rejected
soft and luscious
with layers that drip and bleed
this pussy has painted her pain
in oil slicks on pavement
prowled through back alleys
howled at unrelenting moons
nevertheless
this pussy’s grown strong on your scraps
this pussy is proud
she bows to no king
dancing like fire through jungles of lies
she melts your snowflakes
huddles her masses by millions
heads high, fangs out
she is no fraidy-cat
she will not de-escalate
this pussy will flesh it out, lash it out
bear her claws on velvet arms
and move on you like a bitch.
do you hear the slow growl
of her red tide growing?
do you feel her pussyfeet rumbling
rearing, roaring?
she does not heed your warnings
she is done with your explanations
this pussy persists
this pussy
will eat the canary in your coal mine
for breakfast.
Sometimes I think I know so much of this city, there is nothing left to learn. There is my friends’ art studio full of life sized puppets, here is the coffee shop where I spent half my maternity leave. There’s that spot in the sidewalk that rises up to trip you like a Hogwarts staircase. The side streets and alleys are like cousins and siblings, the rivers the proud heads at the Thanksgiving table. I jostle and frolic between them, repeating the same dances, the same little jokes, understanding each tree and brick like my own heartbeat, ever slowing in weariness with sames, sames, sames.
And then, from beneath the years of mud and leaves and snow, waiting for this one improbable moment as I rush by with another medium cup of grogg that spills onto my hardening hand –
a new, yellow blossom.
Hello!
I stumbled on a backup:
our first texts, first jokes
frozen cherries and bloody noses
hairy men in canoes
and for a moment
I was back in our sweetness
remembering how you tapped the wells
I had safely hidden
coaxed my giggles into geysers
and seemed to want nothing more
than to dance in the hot spray
I told a friend, back then
“it’s like my soul is home”
I made camp by these springs, old faithfuls
sunk my toes into the shifting wet earth
thinking I was finally strong enough
to stand
I forgot, back then
before these dry days
that I would need a backup
lynne bieber 