little girl, get up.

hold me abba
abba hold me
i miss you

i miss clutching the bathroom floor with You,
praying at the You that is the air vent on the ceiling.
i miss You in the tears running all the way down my
chest, stomach, hips, legs.
i miss You in the tea i drink to ward away the pain.
i miss You in the little things we’d cling to
(trees sky dirt) to bring me joy
i miss the You in the desert,
You in the sand in my mouth,
You on my bloody parched lips,
being water.

break me, for you are the darkness,
or let me see you in the light of day.

i had the best dream last night.
he was at her prom. so was i.
single, of course – how else can you flirt?
i said something to someone -
he, at the table caressing her fingertips,
laughed. (i remember his laugh)
and then.
oh then!
a sweet latino came up to me dressed in navy
he was explaining to me his majors
(spanish and business,
though his focus was on spanish
[because he was really, really good at spanish -
"because of the way my mouth's shaped," he explained,
running his fingers over his jaw, around his lips.
"i can see that," i smiled, and leaned forward.
he smiled indulgently and touched mine.])

my life is so full

it’s perfect.

i am the despised of godly men and women
i am the beloved of the angels
God sees me,
he gives me water when his chosen ones have
sent me out to die of thirst.

my bastard son cries
(hold on, my son, hold on
your God is bringing the water of life)

when i’m finally face to face
with the sweet fire of God
i’ll see that walking through the flames
was walking in him

i can’t wait until the day i
speak to my children of
YHWH our God,
one YHWH,
on the road and in my house.
while they sleep i will speak his name
over their downy heads
and caress their porcelain cheeks
with his promises.
when they wake i will wrap them in
the joy of the lord
and sing over them
the songs of the redeemed.

under her nail
blue
she must have scratched her eye
and scales of sky
came off

an hour of time spent:
lathering, rinsing.
nairing, shaving, trimming.
lotioning.
finally she is ready.
deep breath
thrill of terror
and a hasty, fervent prayer:
show me something good.
and pulling off her robe she goes
and stands in front of the mirror.

hollywood games of sex and seduction
play in a darkened room and i am
hypnotized, brow furrowed, at this puzzle:
infidelity, incest, intrigue -
and what follows necessarily?
despair, destruction, and death
what is this circus i have escaped into?

my thoughts wonder again,
as eric bana leaves woman after woman
i feel like scarlett johannsen:
catherine of aragon (a little-known actress)
warned me
(the goody two shoes who dabbled in men)
of women like myself
(natalie portman: in all ways more interesting
and better than me, and steals
as i stole, and plays games)

and then? after the credits?
jane seymour,
a snub-nosed actress glimpsed in the background,
who will submit and bear a son;
anne of cleves,
not glamorous enough for a film, ugly and pockmarked,
who will be the legendary ex and pal of henry 8;
catherine howard,
who would have outshone natalie and scarlet if included,
who will cheat like henry cheated;
and katherine payne,
who lasted so long that eric bana would have worn a fat suit,
who will be the last mother of henry the eighth.

and henry golden handsome charmer
grows fat and corpulent,
sores on his legs.
a crane must hoist him onto his warhorse,
and blood runs through him hot,
and over his hands.