Saturday, April 21, 2018

the kind

i am not the kind of girl with a golden heart and wide open arms
no narcissus, no contrite orchid blooming
I am not one who coos at babies and vulnerability 
am not of pink bows and kneeling in pews alabaster 
too much love burns the kindness and soft spots 
too much bruise thickens the viscera and sharpens awareness 
no lace, no tempered pane--no black and white 
gray is the tea I brew, the color I wrap about these bones 
contrast defines, knowing binds 
no sympathy for the devil, no hymns to the heavens 
I am not the kind of girl who opens the door without thinking about the door 
for a thousand and ten years 
so if you're waiting ...
learn a song and steal my burnished heart 
with your unbridled burn 
with your hands for craft and edges enfolding 
with your sure-fast gaze for a thousand and ten years  
I am not of pepper, monster trucks and short shorts 
no black-velvet-elvis upon my wall
no tether to the birch of a smokey mountain morning 
hyacinth nectar tethers me 
something better wakes me 
what drips from these arms is 
not moved by the ordinary 
not stilled by love 
I am not the kind of girl who believes in temperance, jesus and circuses 
I am not unlike the honey bee 
honey bees cling to the sweetness, the sting and the soar 
of wind and weather 
the better than love kind