come on down to the Mermaid Cafe

				inadequate


i’ve lost track of the cities
and i don’t know their names
but they died in vain
	because some fucking guy with a gun
	decided it was a good day to kill
	decided that life wasn’t worth living
		and took out his anger
			         his frustration
		   	         his inadequacies
		on you
			and me
				and, most importantly, on those who died
					on the other end of his bullets
							        his gun
	he decided to play the role of death
		bringer of
			heartache
		bringer of	
			inadequate laws
		bringer of
			fights between family and friends
	because a guy with a gun 
			is a dangerous thing
		an angry guy with a gun who thinks he knows better
			is a terrorist
		fighting for might over women
			fighting for white is might
		fighting  because mental illness 
			is not the cause
		and guns just make every death easier
						     faster
						     ready for the B roll on the news
			because the A roll has become
				words about twitter and the inadequacy of the president

i’ve lost track of the cites
	i don’t know that i’ve even read their names

		as they cross over
		i mourn the dead 
we are all Cain

blood ancestry

sometimes i wonder if our blood is just bad
a long ago curse laid upon our line
	did some ancient  grandmother burn at the stake for consorting with the devil
	perhaps a great great aunt crossed a shaman or a witch

we have breathed anger into our lungs since we were internal
	our mothers finding bad seeds to join them
		to grow us in a petri dish of fear
							 a life of longing
				of never 
   belonging
	        in a world of calm
so we search
     	and we search
		we scream our ecstasies
			we create new blood
				we have joined others
					opening the pool	
						letting our blood mingle
							letting our children run wild and free
							
						but you rage
					and i drown
				she quakes
			and he burrows
		hiding
	hiding
hiding

we believe in our children
		our youth
		our love
	we promise our everything and smile at the altar
sometimes forever is broken

	don’t let the bad blood taint him 
		it is nothing
		a lineage of fear
			names generic and forgotten
				a secrecy of mothers 
				(the fathers they never name
  the fathers they choose to blame)
	let it be past
		let it be the voodoo of our ancestors 
		let us claim our names loudly
			peacefully

	i was given the name of my father
		i gifted my son a new name
		the name of his father
		i break the matrilineal line
	
	let him walk into the light
		the curse of generations gone
		only sweetness on his lips
			his name traced back 
				son to father 
			his grandfather’s name 
		strong and solid
	let him be safe
	let him be

let him claim his own name
	we are only placeholders
	we
	     are merely steps in evolution
			         in magic
				in curses 
and blessings






(2015)

		familial

candle flicker
	tea & book
lights are dim
	i close my eyes and take a look
creating screen
	to see my fears
i cried so much 
	i nearly drowned in tears

fuck that 
		here i am
stronger than
		any man

i don’t care if you were there 
	when i was made
egg & sperm
	mental dna can change

i am your daughter
	in name alone
simply because you could not
	apologize on the phone

no, that is a lie
	you see
it’s because you could not show your love
	for me

i tried for years
	to win you back
to love you, my father
	without verbal attack
but here we are	
	44 years past birth
& while your continued love
	would have been nice

i likely would have paid
	its painful worth

now i sit here
	my son slowly waking
i wonder if, to you,
	my love was worth taking

this game, it’s clear,
	is lost to us both
i see no more chance for our
	familial growth

				steadfast

the world is crumbling around us
	genocides, gunshots, and wannabe dictators
	hurricanes, earthquakes, fires, and tsunamis
	I worry that we are Pompeii
		and it is too late to stop the lava, the ash, from covering us
				(from preservering our bodies perfect in this state of terror)
			  too late to save us from this nightmare

yet
      i remain steadfast in my will
			    my desire
			    my promise to keep fighting for us all
as
      you must, too

we must rise as as one
	strong
	determined
	ready for the fight of our lives
			the fight for the lives of our children

people are scared 
	of change
	of difference
	of strength that they do not understand 
and is not theirs
people are scared

so i speak into my echo chambers
	teach my son the ways of equality and kindness
	teach his friends how to grow into better humans than those in charge

i read and i learn facts
			and realities
		about the world
			about people
i read and i cry and i bemoan the state of the states
				the state of humanity
					(the loss of humanity)

but all is not lost
	i refuse to believe that this is it
	that this new normal is, well, normal or okay
i stand true and loyal to humanity
	trying to help where i can and educate when i can
i read books to classrooms on how to deal with big emotions
		and bullies

i tell my friends that they are beautiful and worthy of love and comfort
	i write these poems about horror and frustration
		and blast them into the void of the internet
	my words tell my story
you cannot shut my mouth or my fingers
	i remain loyal 
to the human race

	

				kayfabe, or the suspension of disbelief


sometimes,
		in order to actually have fun
	one needs to suspend disbelief
	one needs to watch without judging
	one needs to believe in kayfabe

sometimes,
		the storyline is beyond ridiculous
	and science doesn’t look like science
	and people have no idea how to have healthy relationships
	and we just want to get lost in something else for awhile

so, wrestling took hold 
	and we believed the storylines
	and we cheered the good guys 
	and we booed the bad

we watched an athletic show encased by four                equal sides of stretchy rope
	we watched actresses and actors perform choreographed fights
	we watched athletes tumble in such pre-planned madness that sometimes
	we watched 		perfection

but
		the important part is to know the difference
	the thing to remember is to come back to reality when the show is done
	the most important knowledge to be gained here is that
	the shows can be fun and seem so real

			but
			they
			are
			not
			factual

			they
			are
			not 
			real

they are merely stories we tell
		   shows we watch
		   fictions we suspend our disbelief for
		   kayfabe is real
			our fun may not be

                                             Supreme Court Nomination Hearings, 2018
                                          (for Dr. Christine Blasey Ford and Dr. Anita Hill)			


one word in front of another
				she speaks
one breath after another
				she breathes

and i thank her for going on when the world is so terrible to women
								our country so terrible to her

we have been sidelined for so much of history
	a side note in the textbooks, a pillar of salt
	wives and mistresses
	virgin sacrifices
	minor characters
	
and here we are
	screaming the names of our rapists
	writing the actions of our abusers
			those who try and fail 
to keep us in the mud
					without realizing that we want the muck to be seen
						we need the secrets to come out
							to pour from our mouths 
						like sudden light in a dark room
							these men flee for cover like cockroaches
						using words and anger as sword and shield

one word in front of another
	you cannot rule in perpetuity
		we are here and we are beyond anger
			we are done with playing the part of lesser
				of being seen as yours to do with as you please
	
one foot in front of the other
	one breath after another
		more women speaking truth to power 
			we will continue forward
			day after day
			night after night
		we won’t give up our voices 	
				    our rights
				    ourselves

you cannot beat us because we keep getting the fuck up
	and we are done with being held down

dear universe,

i’d much prefer it if you could leave them alone
my father, my brother
tumor ridden
dying at a rate i disapprove of

of course it’s more complicated than just pure love
i don’t know if anyone in my family is pure
we are none of us innocents

but cancer doesn’t lay claim to our bodies based on good and evil

cancer doesn’t care if you took lives or saved them
doesn’t care if you minded your own business or buried yourself in the affairs of others

cancer doesn’t care
it just grows in malignancies 
usurping our bodies
	   our minds
	taking over
		blackness creeping into our minds
		while it ravages their bodies

and their cancer brings my guilt
	should i love them more strongly?
	see them more often?
	forgive them more easily?

	give up my strongly built walls?

the line of life and death drawn in tumors and pain
the line of sanity and losing everything i’ve become

how do i love you now?

we had reached a detente
occasional phone calls and speaking of our young children
we had reached a sense of calm
	wherein i protected my heart, my mind

but my heart is not ice
	         is not stone
     my mind holds on to you
and family is family
	my brother and my father
	the y chromosomes of my life before
	floating on the whitewater of the rivers of blood in my veins

shared history and dna

i can’t just walk away
and i don’t know how to help
	how to freeze time or cancer into nonexistence 
         don’t know how protect myself if i let you in
			or if i keep you out

i worry about losing the tether to my little raft on this whitewater ride
i worry about losing you both
i worry

for Kathy on her 60th birthday



age is nothing but a number
and, damn, you wear each and every year well
decked in purple and stars
	 in glitter and black
		a dash of pink
	like joseph’s coat
			but better

because you are a matriarch
	a woman to lead
	a woman to speak
	a woman to project our voices strong

age 
       is nothing but a number
	a creaking of knees 
		of vertebrae that ache
			of stomach acid burning up your throat
				of cold sweats and hot flashes

you have touched each cliche
	been maiden and mother
		and crone has never looked so good as it does on you	

	you’ve sang so well the songs we need hear

crones have never been more vital 
	as you are now
open your mouth and speak
		     and sing
		     and teach

link arms in strength
	your grandchildren learn your voice
	and are strong

		strong
	
		strong
60 years of heaven and hell
	of sending your husband into literal warzones 
		armed only with his camera
	you kept the home fires burning

	and spoke

	and taught

	and loved

	and grieved

	and loved

you continue to walk in strength and beauty
	you are the gift to so many

kathy
	thank you for being a woman i admire
	thank you for being

			

  	       i am from	
(the hudson, part I)	



i am from a city on the hudson 
  green
          trees envy me
  because i walk with the legs they dream of

this river is like sap in my veins
   rooting me
                  to this land
   touching me
                 with beauty
    chaining me
                 with invisible threads

my prayers go out to the river
dropping like child thrown pebbles
       and then forgotten
               as waves devour the ripples
                      of my concern

i envy the trees the simplicity
     of their capture
  they need the land until death calls
  there is no question
                               only dreams

i have the possibility of distancing myself
   the physical        foot     follows    foot    ability

but my roots dig far into this soil
clenching at bedrock
refusing to give me wings



	



		tidal.
	           (the hudson, part II)


the problem with poetry is that
				 sometimes
						the truth changes
there was a time i wrote about the hudson
				 and how it was the blood in my veins	
						how i couldn’t leave its banks
						how it held me there
						chained

it was truth
i ricocheted 
				away and back
ebbing and flowing like its tides

it           was           truth
 
but my truth has changed 
				i have aged and moved
						i am 3000 miles distant
and cannot go back

what was once life-sustaining
				feels more like poison
				tainting me still
				breaking down my shores and sanity
						breaking down myself

this is my truth
i haven’t lied
it’s just that 			the truth
						is tidal








		this is home
           	      (the hudson, part III)

my toes feel that they are made of ice
	crystalised, cold
they reach into unstable bedrock
		avoiding faults
		avoiding fault
this is a new home
	a new place to be and grow
my roots are shallow
		my toes clutch the riverbank 3000 miles away, still
	but here i have planted myself
 like a flag
here
	i have chosen to call home 
here
	i grow and
here 
	i have planted new seeds
			a new life

my son only knows of the hudson river through stories
					    through maps 
					    through pictures on the internet
he doesn’t know about tidal estuaries 
	and the indescribable beauty of my river on a late september day
		when the reds and oranges look like fire and life across the mountain side
	he doesn’t know 
		what it’s like to shovel driveways and slide on ice
	he doesn’t know the endless grey of winter
			when the sun is nothing but a figment
		or the joy of warming weather in the spring
			the first flowers green and delicate poking through the thawing ground

my childhood river is a fairytale
	a story told when i want him to learn something
	morality tales and dragons

		my past is only a storybook setting
		and silicon valley is so real
			where water comes in waves of drought
			rivers the size of creeks on a good day
				fade into fossils
					just memories of what was
		his home is here
	we are planting his roots deep
		finding nourishment and bedrock
		growing down past the moving plates of earth
		reaching for its molten core
	this is home
		the hudson only a shadow in my blood
		
this is home
	i sing of the ocean
			and water the trees