Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet

(Photo by Shirley Alexander)

Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet

I'm not the woman people envy
in her confident got-it-all-together stride.
I'm not the person who is called to offer prayer
in a gathering of Christians.
I don't sing like an angel, or paint beauty
into hungry and inspired artists' minds.
I'm not that woman. I'm not destined for dizzy fame
or breathless stolen kisses.

I am the woman who smiles at grasshoppers,
and lifts her nose to smell rain.
I am the woman with hay in her hair
in the middle of a muddy cow pasture.
I am the woman who loses her giggles
in the quiet corners of inappropriate places.
I am the one who wants to chance wearing
purple with green, but chooses black.

I am the mother who knows a special child
is always on stage, and should dress accordingly.
I am the daughter and sister who visits a lonely hill
at midnight to confess my pain to headstones.
I am the jealous lover of time and
all the things I missed before heaven thrust me
wet, screaming, and angry into
the unprepared arms of my religious mother.

I'm not someone you would remember
seeing on a sidewalk in Paris.
I am the woman who drops her papers
in the crowded hallways of life.
I leave tattered bits of myself to be sorted
by future generations who will read and wonder;
"Who was she to find herself worthy
of a legacy of words and love?"

s.a.a.

Making Love With Music

Making Love With Music

At Shag Phelp’s birthday bash
In a small dark bedroom
on the far end of Alan's trailer
we found ourselves laughing and naked,
doing the dirty dance to a drum solo
and strains of electric mystic Iron Butterfly
"In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, baby…"

Flashes of strobe and heady weed
streamed through a carelessly ajar door.
The earth swirled and tilted
when I arched backward
just to hear you swear as my hair
tickled the bare tops of your thighs.
"Oh won't you come with me.."

Thirty years later a soft country ballad
is mingled with snoring before
the first verse leads to pause.
In the still darkness I walk
through this big house alone
while ghosts taunt from shadows.
"and walk this land…"

I put the album carefully in place,
turn the volume to an unfamiliar low,
and close my eyes to drink the music.
If I lean way back in a younger woman's arch,
I can almost feel the hair that is no longer there
tickle the skin of my bare and lonely waist.
"Please take my hand…"

s.a.a.

Ghost of a Blue World

Ghost of a Blue World

I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world past
the buffalo ran before me
thundering through the plains
and I heard a wail in the wind
like a thousand voices whispering
spreading the rumors of change
and all the nations were gathered
on the burial grounds of man
singing, singing, singing

I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world present
the people ran before me
through bloody fields of war
and I heard a sobbing in the wind
like a million demons howling
drumming the guns of hate
and all the mothers gathered
on the soldiers' mourning ground
weeping, weeping, weeping

I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world future
and the shadows ran before me
through the dry and quiet plains
and I heard a small wind mewing
like a newborn baby's breath
dying in the darkness of night
and all the ghosts were kneeling
on the charred and battered land
silence, silence, silence

s.a.a.

Taste Me

Taste Me

I am
crab apple jelly on cornbread
tart and sweet Southern style
If you want soft and pliable
in your life of no lingering aftertastes,
buy a jar of pear
and white loaf of bland

s.a.a.