a toddler's shield

her tiny, awkward legs,
her body stumbling towards me.
she reaches for the toy that lights up and spins.
five long scrapes on the inside of her forearm.
"what happened? what happened to you arm?"
"momma."
"did momma do that to you?"
silence.
she wraps her marred arms around my neck.

You sit at the table with the wounded and poor. You are on our side.


"friday will be his last day. his mother can't afford to keep him here."
my heart sinks a tad, saddened that my little bundle of joy is leaving.
she stands up and stares.
"who's going to make sure he eats? i mean we feed him here."
"if he's not here, he may not have enough to eat."
my heart breaks in two.
he giggles and plays, unaware.

the orphan clings to Your hand, singing the song of how he was found. You are on our side.

when they're all dried up like a raisin in the sun...love.

"There is always something left to love. And if you ain't learned that, you ain't learned nothing. Have you cried for that boy today? I don't mean for yourself and for your family 'cause we lost the money. I mean for him: what he's been through and what it done to him. Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most? When they done good and made things easy for everybody? Well then, you ain't through learning--because that ain't the time at all. It's when he's at his lowest and can't believe in hisself 'cause the world done whipped him so! When you starts measuring somebody, measure him right, child, measure him right. Make sure you done take into account what hills and valleys he come through before he got to where he is."

-A Raisin in the Sun

two.

one.
long, brown hair.
slender.
sings.
acts.
dances.
sings, hoping he'll hear and take notice.
acts, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year, because she doesn't know how to be herself.
dances, with stiff, rigid movements, trying desperately for her steps to not echo her heartbeat.

one.
long, brown hair.
slender.
sings.
acts.
dances.
sings, knowing He hears, loves, and sings over her as well.
acts, for the adrenaline, the lights, the stage, the audience, because she knows her own character enough to become someone elses.
dances, with delicate motion, ever so "cotton-blown-through-the-wind" like.

two by two they fall.

collective random thoughts

sometimes i feel like clipping bushes with those enlarged scissor things.

sometimes i feel like hammering a fourteen-inch nail into balsa wood, so that the hammering sensation won't be over too soon. plus, balsa wood is pretty frail so it just might splinter.

sometimes i feel like shoving my face into a box that has a temperature of -34 degrees.


i feel sitting in snow for hours until i get sweaty and have to go inside and drink hot chocolate, which, ironically, doesn't make me any hotter.

....but only sometimes.

dear stranger

dear stranger,

you're not so distant after all; in fact, you are quite familiar. i've noticed that twinkle you get in your eyes when you ramble on about making it big, and falling asleep in his arms every night. but that sparkle dazzles attractively like fool's gold, glazing the surface of the glossy coating that masks your core. you want me to believe that you've finally found your place under the lights, under the covers; you yearn to believe it yourself. but you know you can't. i know you too well to give in the that glistening look you've got. your soul goes much deeper than a sixty-five foot auditorium theatre ceiling, much deeper than six inches of down bedding. deep calls to deep.

is that beige sackcloth sweater you wear as comfortable as my fleece blanket? you're taking your benadryl to stop that itching, but it won't leave you alone, will it? all you want is to rip away your flesh, but you can't because it's all you've known. the lights are all you've known. his arms are all you've known. deep calls to deep.

dear stranger, why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on want does not satisfy?

take the scales off your eyes, dear stranger.

popsicle

yum.
lick.
suck.
lick.
sluuuurrrpppp.
lick x's 107.
crunch.
stick.
dang it.

fondness wells up in my right and left atriums.
streams of crimson joy flow through my capillaries.
in simpler terms, i love her.
the fifteen-pound dumbbell that descends on her insides
everytime he opens his mouth, refuses to destroy.
old faithful erupts with a heavenly, glorious flood,
engulfing the iron death and dissolving its very being.
the acid ulsers overpopulating her internal abdomen
swell at the stinging glimpse of her livid eyes;
yet they dare not eat away her life for fear
of her stronger heart, looming from the upper left.
she is, a martyred welsh princess, persecuted.
she is, freddy.

the journey to chesnut street

i was walking down market street
where my car was parked,
which, upon entering, would taking me to chesnut street.
and as i was crossing to the other side
i spotted two people riding bicycles-
a man and a woman, quite businesslike.
although they were headed in my general direction,
and by that i mean right towards me,
i decided to step out into the street anyway,
causing a very awkward three-second sequence of events,
during which i slowed down and then sped up
while the couple did the same and then went
on either side of me, the woman giving me "that look".
following "that look" came a "whoops" from my mouth
and it makes me chuckle to think about
the possibility of me colliding with the man and woman,
having us all in a heap in the middle of market street.
then the uncomfortable emerging from the pile,
with my hand accidentally brushing his rear,
or any other awkward moment of physical contanct,
in response to which i would say, "whoops."
it just makes me chuckle.

behind closed doors

i'm a closet alcoholic,
but a select few know.
so maybe that makes me a laundry-room alcoholic.
i left my shot glass in my backpack once,
and it tumbled onto the floor in pre-calculus.
"that is highly illegal!" mr. walker shouted.
i froze, my glass making circles on the tile squares.
then i realized that he was addressing an error
made by jacob in a square root equation.
i retrieved my treasure in relief.
upon my return home, my dryer inquired,

"vodka?"