Armineh Photography
And I believed in you
which made me whole;

once I was whole.

I believed in your voice
and the promise of spring,
the way you pulled me

right to the sun.

The vowels
of our summer
where we hung into sleep

tilted under the same moon.

The moon loved us then;
cloaked us in her silver
and nurtured our swelling sea

of blue and of green.

My own core cracked open
and held safe by
your autumn rain.

I was your paper and ink.

Sewn into your heart’s pocket
folded and unfolded
light leaking and spilling

coating your fingers with each crease caress.

But, it’s the winter
that is the hardest
for I must put my

back to the sea.

And ask the moon
to command her
to wash the the silver
from my skin and my
organs and my eyes

so I can forget
all the tomorrows
still lodged in my throat

and become my own spring.

This gorgeous photo is the creation of the talented and lovely Armineh. Please visit her site at www.armineh-photography.com to be stirred by her fantastic artwork and you’ll see why I’m so honored an grateful to collaborate with her.

Serpent’s Kiss

I remember
your eyes dripping stars
into a sea of orchids;
we two like spinning chimes.
But now, I wait for you
in that place
skating on the blade
of a honeybee’s wing
sipping from a cup
on a switchback road
hiding from the highwayman;
bone china clicking
through my silent life
death’s mercy.
But, instead of you
there’s a bronze horseman
delivering a serpent’s kiss.
He fills me up and I pour into the river.

Teen Spirit

Photo by Eva

36 lacrosse sticks
simultaneously fall
and softly, tap, into a gauntlet;
constrained nets swish
like a short lifetime, sped up
down the center of the church.

I’m on the the aisle, inches away
from a sea of red jerseys
with white numbers and letters
that form names
I don’t know.

Close enough to smell
the grief of a young man
he tries to hide it with
Armani’s Code, but his eyes
scream defeat.

A choir of girls sing “In the Arms of an Angel”
and just like them, I’m eighteen again
flat tire by the side of the side of the road;
she had always been my partner in crime.

The highway was always a dangerous place
for two girls traveling alone; we knew that.
Why did she run out in front of that car?

It was a bad trip that time and this time, cancer
in his bones no less
an urn, black,
the flare of candle shining above,
a palette of pictures, and
lines of county sheriffs and teenagers and news cameras;
standing-room only
saying goodbye to an inspiration.

The suffering and the pain
no positive attitude can endure.
Why can’t anyone bare to recognize
it’s nothing in the end?

He almost made it –
his birthday in two days
18 candles and a cake
were waiting in the fridge;
now slumped at the bottom
of the garbage bin at
the end of the driveway.

There were yellow ribbons
and shaved heads.
There were prayers
and motivating slogans.
There were casseroles
and vigils on a hill.
There were flowers
and sleepless nights.

And parents sliding out of
hospital chairs
who will never
catch up on
their sleep.