root mother unearthed

Mother of mothers
with generations
nestled in the crooks and folds
of arms, skin,
swinging from gnarled joints
shaping wisdom with your hands smelling of soil
An unbreakable force of time and ages
Etched into your stern face

But I know how that face
longed to smile in wonder
I know why you doted on that doctor
There was nothing licentious in your attention
His knowledge unearthed a cavern where there was room
To hear yourself speak as someone other than that myth
To be proud of something other than the accomplishments of those you bore
To laugh, dance
and shout your name
The one they discarded
when you were grafted to the family tree
To carve their history into your skin

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middle-aged

Now that our days of inspiration
have been quartered
into unrealistic pipe-dreams
feeding repackaged innovations
their intent subtracted
from the bottom line
and our creations
turned into investments
we watch grow
We now can laud
our experience and hindsight
leaving us nothing but
to contrive models
and devise systems
to explain and predict
the paths of even the freest radicals
and the capital to construct machinations
to harness their energy
to warm the comfortable cages
we build to live out the rest
of our pointless days

daily post: age

just once

you said what we say
when something’s too good
or simply too hard to resist-
life is too short
not to bend this one time
and enjoy what it has to give

I wanted to say
but bit my tongue
what I also knew to be true
that life after this
would be too long and wasted
spent wanting far more of you

invisible

I can threaten you and hurt you
break apart all your frames
make you ask for forgiveness
as you run and hide in shame
But I cannot make you care

I can stand up to abuse
fight off adversity
turn labels into crowns
And dance at their absurdity

But am beaten by absence
starved through neglect
and faced against indifference
I’m as good as dead

slight distinction

Had you died
there’d still be
all you left behind
But you left
taking with you all traces
leaving only spaces
now empty of you
And everything built
is somewhere else
lost to me
as you are
While I
to you
am as good
as dead

for the best

If everything that happens
does so for the best,
then surely you were meant
to prepare me for death
And all that does not come after

poor timing 

jotNrot

I step in too close
and feel my nose crush
against the revolving doors
I was never much good
at double Dutch
or skipping rope
nor holding out
against all hope
My coffee has spilt
over me like guilt
and leaves a stain
on what remains of my dignity
as I fumble to efface
the disgrace of once again
being out of line
and out of time

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how I know the heart is a muscle

jotNrot

As I grow older,
every heartache feels greater
and takes longer
to get over.

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