purple is
Purple can be the color of mourning
And the color of the irises that I once planted in my mother’s garden.
Purple can be the color of mourning
And the color of the irises that I once planted in my mother’s garden.
Living inside the braided folds just for today.Tangled roots whisper; I can’t hear what they say. Memories are a splinter in the eye.Promises broken become calcified naïveté. Black Swan, slippery like Mercury—haunting.(A life lived well is not a parley.) Water ceasing to hydrate what is crumbling.Silt becomes an urn for ashes someday. Days are shorter…
I’m writing this to just get it out. To put it down. I found a smattering of random notes in my writing desk. There are pages and pages of observations. I’m putting them here because I think maybe there is a theme but I may only find it by sharing. I also don’t want to…
angel of the quake she clings to his leg holding up the fractured pillars (white marble with purple veins) she clings to him looking up with such devotion (the master feeds her) she clings to his leg holding on to a crumbling world she is in the rubble now her hands bleeding seeking his eyes…
FORE now so vulnerable our diversity being ignored entitlement reigns (rains) evidence- science- based (base) //drop the bass 808 33″ not 45 in your face// my transgendered son once a fetus now burgeoning manhood facing future (not forbidden) welcomed bidden (prayed for) received loved bright sun (son) future BIDDEN My response to 45’s “forbidden” words….
vulnerability soft folds (ripped open) revealing deep slash bound peer into darkness (infinite landscape) fractal wound binding like a river winding through a canyon he saw all worlds contained we both saw Her here. now. Ekphrastic poem inspired by the Hana Hamplová: Meditations on Paper exhibit at The Frye Art Museum. I saw it once, alone,…