this night
when she lit all the candles
in the living room
and sat down
on that same dumb chair
where she’d sat and cried
for years
feeling trapped in its box
its big arms that cradled
yet suffocated
buried under sympathetic pets
and inertia
telling herself just one night
she deserved it
pouring another
and another
like this red sea would rebirth her

only this night, these candles
have lit something new in her
suddenly they’ve illuminated
no mere elephant in this room, no
her box is already atop that beast
and it’s a damn mountain before her

it’s been there all along, just waiting
and she knows what to do
she deserves it

she’s still sitting, sure
the elephant is slow, but steady
and it’s a long way up
but there’s no way around it now

one step,
then the next –
forward.

“tender age shelters”
as if we are sheltering their tenderness
as if we aren’t
at the tenderest of ages
making them hard
broken
less than human

or maybe that’s just it
they are simply meat to us
tenderizing in a vat
of salty tears
until they come of tender age
to bite, chew, spit out

some melting pot, eh?

and yeah, I said us
you and me who cry with them
wringing our hands
tending to our own children
lest they too be caged
broken
too tender

we think it won’t happen to us
it’s already happening to us

chew on that, tender hearted

look up
he says, to the girl
on the edge of her seat
yes, you
even while these brown low houses
sink into the dust like coffins
the crumbling fortresses preside
and this mean sharp bush, the skeletal scorpion
hiss “watch your step, look down,
tighten,
shrink,”

don’t.
you can do better
I promise

you can grow into this infinite
sparkling above you like jewels
dance into the dark,
as your own fire burns
this small away

look – it’s expanding with you,
even now!
these swirling wonders
await

yes, you
will have to fight harder
I know
to not fight how they want
grasping at glitter and sand
it will be different for you than me

but your candle burns brighter already
you are so much more than this
already
and my hand is open
take it,
I beg you –

look up!

this old guy
comes out of the veterans’ center
in my building
as I carry with me
an elevator full of doubt
passing the young guy
thinking “wait till you see
what I’ve seen,”
wondering how I got to be
so cynical

the old guy
hunched over
from watching his brothers fall
over and over,
still
comes to the meetings
gentlemanly holds the door
for me

oh my shiny knight
you are barely back in the kingdom
stop worrying that you’re locked in the dungeon
before you’ve even made it to the castle
you’ve got moats to cross before you sleep
and promises to keep

when your sadness suddenly lifts
like a veil, taking with it
the cobwebs you’ve carried
the assumptions you’ve nurtured
from the infancy of your pain
that lurked, forlorn in these shadows

though you knew all along there was also joy
spied it through this black lace
even through your eyelids, closed in weary sorrow
you saw its light burn rosy pink, waiting

will you remember
as the dust settles on your discarded shroud
and you’ve wrapped yourself instead in this new warmth
how in this first moment of lifting
you breathed
you saw these colors fully
and laughed
and danced

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

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