A Little Night Magic

Excerpt from the poem “Crazy Wisdom” published in Lightning Strikes Twice

dreaming the primordial word

I nestle in the palm of night’s hand visible yet empty

blinking in the radiance of the galactic eye

embracing whole worlds of the eye within the eye

perching on my shoulder angels sing hallelujah

invisible paws padding by my feet whisper put faith in every pace

smelling restless noise the tip of my tail twitches I lick my lips

don’t stop me before I am lost

curling up against night’s belly her great head turns towards me

her gaze stars full of mercy and magic

accepting timeless wonder my breath embraces dakinis devas

the dry rattle of skulls following every movement

praising the diamond night

I am the crazy wisdom of no hope and no fear

A Womb with a View

Forty thousand women stand up and claim their wombs back!

The thunder of their drumming feet as they march,

the harsh echoes of their raucous cries

abruptly wakens people everywhere, in cities,

within verdant farmlands,

and in sleepy villages’ people’s nerves jump

and twitch from the shouting

“no more, you cannot have more of me!”

Faster Than a Mint Julep

Thank god no one has ever called me pretty,

I am too fast and furious for trivial things.

The first six months of my life I slept in a baby carriage,

rolling through the shifts from room to room

I watched the ceilings as I lay on my back.

Today I never wear hats; they flatten my curly brown hair,

unlike cool slim blondes, who make the art of

wearing hats look pretty and important.

When Lightning Strikes Twice

there is nothing delicate about lightning
or a cancer diagnosis
both seem to fall from the heavens
flash a sharp acrid smell,
rip apart the sky, our world
blind us
knock us senseless
then comes the thunderclap,
ricochets, reverberates, echoing
down to the core of our being.

once hit by lightning we never forget the smell,
the rush of adrenaline
or the lack of oxygen to our brains.

once hit by lightning we forget
our bodies are a hummingbird’s kiss
frosty puffs of breath, a buffalo standing in the snow

once hit by lightning we must remember
the sentinel apple tree charred by a bolt
still sprouts new life, grows sweet fruit.

there is nothing delicate about lightning
or red zippers of cancer scars
both are heaven’s clarion call for fierce grace
welcome angels sow miracles while
we rest in the palm of God’s hand.
We must whisper a wish to a butterfly
gaze at a little girl dancing with a firefly
become a shadow which runs across the grass
lose itself in the sunset
yet greet the roll of thunder come again.