Dream House

I had to give up a father, a mother, four dogs, two fetuses, much of my sight, a marriage, many lovers
I had to give up you once already without even a real good bye only an email unanswered (though I understand this) and the misted memory of you running off into the night in your huge black boots, your voice on the phone fading even before we hung up
Sometimes I would see a face like yours, with hard planes and soft places, or remember an idea you gave me as easily as if you’d picked it from the lemon tree in my yard but mostly I just thought, He’s gone like all the rest
So I locked the doors of my little yellow house with the mermaid bathroom and the roses and the pond and kissed my children goodnight, made them breakfast, swept the floors
Maybe I came to you at night sometimes barefoot only in a white t-shirt, my legs not even properly shaven, my hair a mess, no makeup, sitting cross legged at the foot of your bed to watch you sleep
Never touching you or saying a word
Maybe you felt me at the periphery of your dreams
Forming pictures in your mind
Of the two of us running hand in hand through a decimated world
While our foot prints spring with lilies
Now I may have to say goodbye to the yellow house
One more thing on the list of farewells
But I still hold my children in my arms
and this time when I visited you in your dreams
You knew

Black coat sweep me up into your woolen folds
Against my bare thin arms I feel your warm dense skin
Wrap me up like the food in spongy injera bread collard greens and lentils and yams scooped up
Drink me like his mouth on red wine
Carry me along the cold sidewalk to the bright hotel lobby
Parquet floors and floor to ceiling bookshelves leaded glass and wood paneling milky domes of light
Rest on the back of my chair the back of my gold dusted bony shoulders
Feel me beating inside you listen to my story of loss and pain and the kind of love that makes your bones ache and your organs feel too big
Take me home hold me in the warm car so the chill dissolves like mist when I tell you I am afraid kiss me into silence with a mouth that tastes somehow like my secret places, meat and wine though he has not tasted them
hoist me against you keep kissing me kiss me again on the sidewalk press your wanting against my pelvis so I can not mistake it when I walk across the street stop me in the center grab me kiss me again promise me nothing except the memory of your inebriating embrace

come here, inside this house
where you can like all kinds of music hip hop or rap or pop or experimental harp music
you can even like to smoke cigarettes in the yard
you can complain about food you can cry as much as you like if you swear you have to put a quarter in the jar but no one will stop loving you you can eat pizza or only kale and you will still be loved without condition
you can be a sober drug addict or a pre adolescent angry girl or a laker’s fan or a heat fan
you can wear black patent nike high tops or organic cotton there will be soup for you if you want it there will be a bed if you need it there will be a dripping faucet and messy closets and stacks of papers and a dog who will jump on you and possibly tear your clothes there will be scraps of old master paintings, lace and jewels to make collages there will be books to read and lemons on the tree and dust bunnies under the couch no matter how many times i swiffer
there is always a beautiful child singing in this house
sometimes there are children fighting there is always a dog barking when you are trying to meditate
i used to dance and write love poetry in this house now i melancholaly fondle each day like a prayer bead and let it go
hoping you might come inside some time
to dine with us

Love plays in the surf with his children
Who are like statues of young gods in a museum brought to life
Love’s eyes that same murky jade as waves fraught with particles of debris and shadow
I hear his words in my mind sometimes
rhythms imitating those of my own convulsing body
I can’t let him come here take me to dinner sweat beside me on a mat
Let alone in my bed
Can I?
There’s too much at stake for both of us and so I wait for Music
To be less elusive
Which rarely if ever occurs
For if you were Music would you make plans
Hold children in your arms say I love you
Just those three words simple and straight?
Or would you vibrate among the stars speaking only in secret messages
Breaking hearts but never admitting
being broken?

love in his dinosaur pajamas, love in her black cashmere, love in the same basketball jersey he's worn for days, love in freshly washed puppy fur, love in the exact moment of becoming a woman two hours before the clock strikes midnight
love walks in wearing a family of three, dryad and centaur and a small tree elf
bringing organic champagne
love eats pizza and chocolate chip cookies and ice cream bars
lentil soup with yams and butternut squash kale and onion and coconut oil
love snuggles under blankets on couches beds and mattresses on the floor in a room lit with the sub-marine glow of fairy lights
while i strut painless in my new cognac leather boots tucking love in, putting love to bed
everywhere i turn i can see love clearly through the lenses of my new glasses
while you, invited to love's party but unresponsive, stand alone on your ladder in your bowler hat overlooking a broken wall
into another universe where perhaps love has another name

2011

worst things anyone said to me: "you are not the homeowner and your mother is DEAD!" bank employee and teller of untruths and "you won't pass your driver's test" blithe eye doc who gave me false read on vision test
best things anyone said to me: "we love each other so much it would make the love meter explode" my son "you have me" my daughter consoling me about my mom's death "i love you" jeni "he gave you a false read on your vision test" dr. nesburn
biggest creative accomplishments: finished pink smog, teen spirit, love magick anthology, sold elementals to smp
biggest physical accomplishments: able to run again, forearm balance w/out the wall
best new creative partnerships: laurie liss my amazing agent, christy ottaviano at holt,michael homler at smp,david wilk, jeni mckenna, my hot love magick writers
favorite books: the great night and the children's hopsital, both by chris adrian. i didn't mean to put you off with my enthusiasm, chris!
greatest loss: chris yackley
craziest dog: elphi
most patient dog: maggie mae
best brother: gregg
best sister: tracey
loyal friends: adam and jeni
most generous yogi: cheryl at goda
most generous facialist: sara at skin santa monica
best students: all of them
proudest moments: jasmine getting picked as one of three six grade cheerleaders
sam getting A+ and rocking the sports blog samsports
most patient eyeglass proprietor kevin at la eyeworks
best photographers: maria andreotti, mccabe russell, nicolas sage
best chiro care: dr hari bhajan khalsa
best legal support: mike stone and robyn roth
best real estate support: jim mckenna and michael cramer
best support system of people i don't personally know: you
love
flb

the tasks of the body

The task of the eyes is this: cry and see and see and see and see and cry
Until you see the faces of the children, one and two
Not as heart beatless shades on the ultrasound screen
But hot wet babies in your arms
See less and less and less
Rip and tear
Half black out
Be held in a doctor’s young hand
Be bound with a buckle
Wear a patch
Continue to see
Be told you cannot see
See anyway
Watch the man’s face in the lamplight
Remember the high planes
The thick eyebrows
The hook
The wild splay of feral teeth
The lips that you do not need to see to know

The task of the throat is this: do not speak
Grow nodules that inhibit flow of hormones
Fear cancer and radiation
Accept the needle
Medicate
Speak
sometimes forget or fear to speak
Tell the hands to write

The task of the hands is this
a;sldkfjgh
write and write and write and write
never stop writing whether the eyes or the throat work or not
continue to write
as if your life, all of your lives
depended on it
they do

the task of the breasts is this:
grow modestly realize you are pretty
hear false alarms about cancer
grow full and streaked with life
pour forth milk for the children one and then two at once
be proud
diminish
try, though small, to protect the heart

the task of the hips is this:
roll and shake and undulate and switch and dance
stretch and widen and give and receive
open to bring the children one and two
know your purpose has been served
be fearless be strong

the task of the feet is this
walk and skate and dance and jump and run
run and run and run
wear six inch aqua blue suede platforms
and tortoise shell stilettos
and sharp boots with chains
pound under a vest of iron
swell, hurt take the needle
almost explode with pain
worse than any the hips have suffered
accept supplements and greens and oils and adjustments
wear comfortable shoes
heal
run

this is the task of the heart:
open close open close open close
open open open close at the father’s deathbed
open
close at the mother’s deathbed
open
close at the further loss of love
wear chains wear locks
rattle in the chest
think you are immune to opening
except to the children one and two
see the man’s face across the table in the dark tibetan restaurant
quake as things do
before they open

this is the task:
stand at the door on the feet
in semi comfortable black boots
do not speak of longing
do not use your hands
do not use your hips
do not use your feet
watch him skip and jump away into the night
that is only partially lit with the hope of longer days in the forms of strings of colored bulbs on wires
go inside
close the eyes
dream of a pool and a waterfall
and beautiful young women surrounding the man you desire
hear him say he considers you virginal
while they stroke his face
wake
write
run
when the voice says, “running and running and going nowhere”
say “no, no, going everywhere
for the heart refuses
even after everything
to stay closed
for this
is the final task"