Sand Paper Day

Today is a sand paper day.
That wood could be
as sensitive as this
makes me feel more
sympathy for the tree
that became a table
or chair.

Becoming is rough.
(Being is tough enough.)

Today is a rug burn day.
The kind your brothers gave you –
You remember –
Skin, heart, mind, spirit pulled in
opposite directions until
it stings.

Loving is rough.
(Living is tough enough.)

Dreams of Bears

I had my first dream about you last night:
I got the news that you had been mauled by a bear.
And I heard myself asking the question:
“Is he alright?”
And I knew that couldn’t be right.
And then my mind said:
No, it wasn’t the bear.
The bear was just the last thing
in a whole series of unfortunate things.
But that’s how it went.
That’s exactly how it happened.
Now, when someone asks me
the inevitable question of why you’re not here,
I’m going to tell them it was just the last bear.

My Voice (Yodelay-ee-oo)

My voice.
(Mine.)
Whispers in my ear
expresses through my fingers
wants, by the bend of my knee.
(Mine.)
My voice.
Pushes with its elbow
in the small of my back
when it thinks I’m not listening
(Mine.)
[..Yes.
I am yours
You are me
and mine...]
(MINE.)
My voice.
Struggles to KNOW
strains to feel
hopes, above all
(Mine.)
My voice.
Mine.