My Name Is Not Mavis

Come On

Come on, I call to the darkening skies.
Strike me with lightening and split me open
Like the boulders in the field.
A clean line between then and now
That from a far far distance
Look like art—
The opening of two hands,
Or the two halves of a stubborn heart.

Enter

The temptation of
Do Not Enter
Is what led me astray
To wander afar
From the crowded ordinary
To a lost place of promise
That pleases me with the blooming
Possibility of what can grow
Between the cracks in the cement
And what home can be made
From an old shack
Without glass in the windows
That let enter the nighttime monsters
And daytime wonder alike,
Content with their
Truce of balance
As I am satisfied
With making a living
Within the forbidden.

Resistance to the Tyranny of Your Telling

Tell me I can’t and I will storm across the stage
And disrupt the show.
Tell me how much you love me and I will betray you
Like a promise between school girls
Whispered behind their hands at recess.
Tell me that I am beautiful and I will kick at the dirt
And avoid mirrors for a thousand centuries
Just to prove you wrong.
Tell me the sun will always shine on me if I just let go
And then watch me clutch my angst and snarl to my dying breath.
Tell me to stay forever and I’ll toss everything I know
To the curb as I leave this town.
Don’t you dare tell me that I am
Always enough, satisfaction guaranteed, done.
I will set myself afire and scream across the sky like a firework
That could not wait for darkness.

The Last Cup of Coffee In the Carafe

How can I rest when I am just past my peak,
A puzzle unfinished, slowly turning to dust,
Wanting but not lacking, stretching but not reaching,
Coasting with a nearly empty tank.
How can I rest while there are tasks left unfinished,
And I still feel the relentless drive of purpose.
How can I rest when there is still needing, and I am
Still fighting the monsters in the closet.
Still praying on my knees in the desert.
Still needing to sweep the porch, hang out the clothes,
Empty the bins, take my garbage to the curb.
Witness another sun. As if it will never come again if I don’t.

I Am

I am the reckoning.
I am the fountain that never stops.
I am the raw days that are unfettered and untamed.
I am the wheat that is barely grown in the field.
I am the last lit streetlight in the brightening day.
I am less than anticipated and more than can ever
Be contained in a vase, a stanza, or description.

I am always underestimated, but hardly bitter at all.
I am an acquired taste and the lasting flavor
That you will never be able to remove from your tongue.
I am the questions no one else will ask.
I am the kiss of karma that sealed your fate.
I am the firecracker that delights then leaves you in the dark
To find your way home alone, spent and weary,
Your neck aching pleasantly from looking up to find me.

I am the quick step you followed,
The embarrassed laugh that made you cringe.
I am the cast of the shadow
And the side of the sun we never see.
I am what makes it dreary when I am gone.
I am the sudden thump of the earth shifting,
The clean of time well spent,
The blurring edges of your dementia
That won’t blissfully let you forget.

I am the bulbs you forgot to plant,
And the goodbye that never left.
I am the here that goes on vacation
And the song you liked
Until it was stuck in your head.
I am the static you can’t clear from your throat
And the mouthful you can’t spit out.

I am the heart holding out for you.
The empty swing beckoning in a hard wind.
I am the precious reality of winning the lottery.
Who you yearn for when you take your last breath.
The error that lingers in your mind
But was never a mistake.

I am the bonus check that bounces when cashed.
The ditto to your answer.
The awkward actor who insists on the spotlight.
I am the lost traveler who won’t let you loan me a map,
And the ocean whispering two states away.

I am the run-on sentence with too few commas.
I am everything that makes no sense.
I am the feverish prayer in a crisis.
I am the conundrum taken.
I am the reckoning.