Guest Stenographers
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In Charcoal
otoo-san and okaa-san
fall into each other’s frail limbs, listen
i made you suffer too much
little biscuit of flesh to nibble in the night
woman
girl
baby
one day all of this will return
etched in black
dark, delicate as ashes
always known it is coming
i will say it now
in that soft-silted carbon
the burnt flecks of bone no Nikkei can find
shameful riven bodies
or the wild searches afterwards for water
hear yourself quiver-cry
a wild cry, like
i cry out
inside me tonight
and she who reads this
and sleeps beside me
so much i owe you
so much left out….
01/26/08
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On This Song Our Daughter
i let it spill from her, some giggle caught
from you, how her spine stoops and curls
sunlight washes over you, over us, okaa-san, nee-san
like the regions of the soul where sacredness
takes hold
sun streamed through
a dozen greenhouse panes
01/26/08
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Over The Roundness Of Her Shoulder
feeling tension begin to lift
a physical force through air
two bare strong arms raising the life she did not choose
you are my friend too
she would gulp
her fingers touching her face
oh, flower
but the ladies do, they know
why they cry, old flowers
wearing red hats
so resemble poppies, sacred
flower
a spectacle
they are eaten up by the ground
like petals
the girl
tastes their ashes
still
on her breath
01/24/08
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Survive
in at a door, snuffling
up stairs, pushing her slender
delicate nose into a bed
whimpering, howling
then the body recognizes itself
this was me
before i had breasts
unnatural, all silent like-you know
sculpting out of shadows
her own interior within
in the darkening room
she makes writing motions on my skin
and my friend, friend to friend
we whisper death sightings. Her
breast, your cervix, my throat
i wanted her head in my hands
her taken emptied mouth
whose hush we stood and watched
i said wolves
wolves i said
concentrate the mind
it’s something in the howl
01/24/08
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Tell Her
put your hands over her eyes
and in the darkness she knows for sure
she wants it to be like that
the sudden flight
of a monument falling
in a soft rush
a whisper of grass
peace surrounds her
surely she is happy
hearing you beside her
lift up your head and tell her who you are
01/23/08
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Necessary Sacrifice
text of the unconscious
an obvious place to begin
silent place to which we have been assigned
again and again
ink eyes, delicate reaching heart
speaking another language
of surface and depth
the core of all that is enclosed
for us it was a necessary sacrifice
we give you this
nothing else is beautiful
meeting and parting
we have left our world
somewhere still celebrating sunlight
commencing the inevitable transformative dance
someone is here
open your doors
01/21/08
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My Kitchen
An Antique is
Old
Lovely
And full of memories
This is my kitchen
Cooking here is a constant
Style a vain hope
New sticky tab tile flooring
And an old ceiling with fluorescent lighting.
A 23rd coat of paint on each cupboard
Keeping safe hand picked herbs
Like a magician’s hat
All of which comes together with
witch dolls on high
cats on counters
candles that flicker
If you were to visit, your wife and you
You’d have no room to gather or stand
If your wife went to the ever so small kitchen
Looking for something to drink
She couldn’t help but find the fridge
I think it serves its purpose
And it can’t hide
If your wife opened it
She would see drinks
She would see food
And condiments
Feta and truffle oil make everything grand
The food thats there,
made with love and care
Is kept in lead free containers just waiting to be enjoyed
Yummy, savory, a culinary rainbow.
10 minutes later
Your wife hands you her coat and says,
“Please hang this up…we’re staying to sup.”
This is my kitchen. 
11/30/07
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I am truly Honored to be able to post such premium work by fellow bloggers. I take great pleasure in this task. Thank you forever those who contribute.
Polar.
Gail,
Survival:
There seems as many different ways to survive as there are ways to suffer. It’s as though splinters break off from the pain & lodge inbetween the vertebrae of our spine. Each sliver weakening the strength of our back. Bending us over with time. Hobbled. For those we love we stand straight, strong; outside. Inside we wield a cane & we feel old. If we gathered the canes & burned them would we not indeed have Dante’s Inferno?
There is quite a bit of depth to this piece. I will continue to dive in this water for it is ripe with pearls.
Over The Roundness Of Her Shoulder:
I see the specter of loss & the rebirth of the cycle. Fate. Are we condemned. I think yes. But I’ll still fight it. The Forest taught me a secret, if you plant a seed every day fate will never catch you.
I really enjoy all of this. Blessings to you. Dobry Noc.
Dear White Bear, thank you for your considered, compassionate response, truly a rare blessing….gail
Gail, no problem. My pleasure as always.