a ritual to start the work week
If you believe, as I do, that little
ripples can stretch into waves and oceans,
then you, too, must worry and fret when your
finger mis-taps or the milk-pour misses
your glass.
The mighty ant that lifts giant leaflets
and carries them back to the mound knows that
its impact is only felt in tandem.
To choose to do is huge, nevermind height
or mass.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
One tick ’til four, she peaks
just before disaster
pours itself onto us;
adds her weight, builds its churn.
Rough cycles spin and soak,
hiding her. Catalyst—
fist raised in full salute,
lit by the fading sun—
surges forward, lifting
up the tides: a jail break
bursting, cacophonous.
Rivers run unbound and
echo through the valley.
A wave and then a snap:
new bridges to raise up.
Tears wiped clean, sobs slowing
to gentle groans, once more
she peeks out grinning, sly.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Heavy and huge, some slowly sighing mass,
expansive I sit, grown by my own breath.
Liquid rather—a lava pool whose thick
heat releases gently upward, soft harm;
returned to muck, holed up, hidden, cocoon-
ridden, mid-shift and shapeless; I begin
another period to traverse and
stretch to end. Who could help themselves from this?
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
A tangle of wires,
switches, screws and circuits
connect us, reach through earth
and air to find their way
from me to you and back.
Some ordered jumble of
lines and dots, ones and ohs,
sent screaming into space
by hopeful fingertips
and hungry eyes, dashes
to meet you where you are,
to call for your gaze and
urge you closer to me:
a fire burning red,
impatiently smoking
in giant swirling plumes.
How fast that thicket of
electric sticks sparks and
flames. How bright. How quickly
cut short by water, too.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Who controls your time here, dears?
I mean, the way you spend it,
not how much you can gather
before the last sand grain falls
and final second hand tics.
Take it as you take my love:
a deep spirit to savor,
warm your heart and ease your mind;
yours to gulp, bubbly and light,
refreshing, endless and free.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
What’s this? Where is this
strange place I’ve gone?
So much flatness and grey.
The work is the same, the pen
between my fingers, the keys
and the screen. The seltzer
bubbles popping on my tongue.
This cushy chair holds me closer
and extends its arms for me.
But I miss the ease of your reach,
mid-day dishes and candlelight,
the warmth and the wood.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Bullfrog, waiting, weighs his choices:
fat, flapping suckers flit and fly,
a smorgasbord abuzz-buzzing.
Child’s wide eyes flit from fish to fish:
the feint and the flipper, swimmers
flopping from shallow warmth to depth.
Little fingers flap, swat and clench:
dratted distractions bedevil
grand plans of searching and snatching.
Eyelids narrow to a tight squint:
surprising speed; a single fist;
a wriggle; squeal; splash!; and a hop.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
You live on my lips, my love,
parting them when you dance
and tucked in at bedtime,
all pillows and soft cotton.
You live in my belly, my love,
pulling apart the world
so I can use it to grow,
settling and stoking my flame.
You live in my knees, my love,
greasing my way, easing
the blow of each step as it
reaches forward in the dark.
You live in my little toes, my love,
holding me centered and hiding
behind sandal straps, silently
supporting my unfurling spine.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
All eyes, onward we reach;
gaze manifesting our way.
These lips, cotton-mouthed
and kept dry by invisible
threats and sodden cheeks.
Lashes batting away breezes,
teases and taunts: why butterfly,
you beat so heavily and in peace.
Born of liquid and bound to
earth before tempting air,
you take a form that overcomes
what held you. Up into
the night, we fly. Wide lens
and deep periphery flitting
between our foci. Don’t lie
still. Stir and unsettle. Cover
your full-throated pleadings
with coated pills and soulful
greetings; heal and fill. Well up
and tear. Blink and see, again.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
The drone of justice whirs
quietly in the distance,
maneuvering around plots
and beds, not always with care.
It repeats and sputters,
turning up stones and slicing
away the overgrowth:
a called-for trim.
The sweat of its operator
settles above ruffled brow
and squinting eye, drying
slowly in the morning sun.
Their last patch crossed,
motor cut, they wipe and sigh,
enjoy the fresh scent of their labor
and move on to the next.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Listen, my loves, but not for me,
for I merely echo and repeat.
Listen, my loves, for the crack and the strain
of chords wrapping taut around his name,
his name, his name, his name, his name.
Feel it pop in your ears and thrum:
beats dropping, beating drops, throat numb.
Listen for the humming
and listen for the hymn.
Listen for the chants and threats
and listen for the ring of bells
cracked and horses reared. Listen
for crumbling altars and listen
for mother’s tears as they echo,
crawling and gasped across the desert
of her cheek, so scarred by white men’s fears.
Listen for black voices and repeat their urgent cries.
My loves, if we do nothing, love itself surely dies.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
