Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Aloud

I was raised in their back yards.
Dad jumped over tiny pines...

They've grown
to top
the two stories by now.

Across the street they cut down
more trees to build
more low cost housing.

Concrete upon concrete.
It will take them years to arrive.

I am unsure
of this transition.

I am again
in the city.
In ruined cabs,
in ten dollar trains.
in a grid planned
by mans
interpretation
of god .

I was born in the back woods.
The daughter
of a women without.

She barely existed
and I exist,
barely.

I feel separate, as it is true that I am.
I feel useless, as it is true that I am.

I come to meaning only when presented a task
A role to fill.
A mother.
A wife.
A lover.
A child even.

Monday, August 13, 2007

The Los Angeles Free Press

"The Los Angeles Free Press"

What makes a man live beside a woman?

I ride the bus in my summer dress,
My legs stick together, and
I think of you then.

A man speaks of God
to no one
and
I think of you,
then.

Distance forces distances as
you and I
fall in love
with one hundred strangers.