Holding On

when all we can do is cling

all the tears sucked down by the vortex

not even breath enough to scream

white water

rapids and rocks

the pounding grinding rush

each day another tumble

another chute of the rapids

and all we can do is hold on

hold close

and wait for the calm

Another Late Night

...and no sign of the end of the road, the narrowing tunnel, the broadening expanse of the dreamlands call. You are so wrapped up in the cocoon of your own changes that you can't see out, stretch out to share an arm and shoulder to cry (havoc) upon.

I cannot need you so much, who have so little to offer in trade.

Trapped in the patterns, in the road travelled too well, and the ruts too deep to lift a crippled foot free.

I saw an old horse yesterday, heavy and lethargic and hurting. His knee looked like mine, his leg misshapen by pain and lack of use. If I was a horse, I'd have had me put down ages ago. What hope of a life without movement, freedom?

Summerswing

swing me wide

in my pale green dress
catch my bottom in your hand
momentarily rest then push
the chains hot under my

hands old tire seat

blackstrap heat

again again laughing
you push me wide and high
skirts fluttering petals falling

sandaled toes pointed

tucked under then unfolded
in that deep physical memory
unfolding a smile like the giddy sun
deep in the pit of my stomach
sometimes you make me

swing-dizzy like this

wompaskiddy

spun wide flung
a feathered fine drift
of white cloud swaying
in that deep amethyst sky

drifting apart till I come down
as a summer rain cool soft
or a morning mist
to kiss your eyelashes
closed against the fall of
my droplets kissing your face
wait don’t stop baby push me again

push me harder swing me higher again

fling me out farther into forgetting
recalling I am not twelve again
nor again am I innocent
of all this

pain