Tattered Hearts and Bloody Tongues

 A couple stands in Bryan Park kissing eachother goodbye.

You, the one who came in

Who took my breath away

Who stalked me and stalled me

In the middle of all my plans

Who derailed my train, sent me

Spinning out of control

Who came to me drunk

From wine and song

Who made me tear down

These walls, walls I couldn’t

Possibly rebuild again even if I tried

You, the one who baited me

Who begged me in the early

8 am light

You, who said I love you

Who gave me the permission

To feel, to be myself

Let all those words come

Tumbling out of my mouth

You and me, not me and you

Now I’m running, screaming

Afraid, a shower full of tears

Words biting the side part

Of my tongue

Thousands and thousands

Of words I want to say

Instead only silence

I don’t know how to tell

You

There are no walls to protect

Me, there are no buffers

Between the cracks

There is nothing to fill the time

There is nothing to fill in what

Remains

My remains, the remains

Of my tattered heart

And bloody tongue

In the Interim

 A young girl waits for a train by herself.

In the interim I will be less

I will be quieter, complacent, and empty

I will take long baths locked behind a door

In silence

In the interim I will be smaller

I will fit myself inside of a chair

I will gather myself on a couch

Wrapped in a quilt

In a ball

Smaller and smaller

In the interim I will be forgotten

I will wander through hallways unseen

I will sleep in the dark corners

In the interim I will be nothing

It isn’t enough to be something

To fill up days with presence and form

It isn’t enough to be a ghost

I will be less than a ghost

Less than a shadow

I will be a quiet, unseen, forgotten poltergeist

Taking baths behind locked doors in darkness

And candlelight

Not a sound

I will fill up no space

Take up no time

Speak no words

I will be a nothing

A no one

A not somebody

In the interim I will disappear

And never be accounted for

*

Read at The Nuyorican Poets Cafe December 2017

Winter is Coming

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand
— Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space
 A calm winter scene in Nebraska with a cabin in the background.
 A bird feeder sits in the middle of a yard in Nebraska during a snowy winter scene.

To this place

This birthplace

Of civilization

Where every year

The winters grow colder

Destroying crops

Killing livestock

Each year crueler than

The next

Why do we choose

To ignore

To forget 

To legislate

Ourselves out of 

Existence?