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I have known the untamed happiness of chill in early October,
biting against flesh, joy of light blue fleeces tucked up ‘round chins,
all the jubilation of purple dusk skies silhouetted with hot air balloons,
glory in turquoise and silver,
fried dough and alpaca fur,
the beatitude of shadows in the sky lighting up rainbow with the roar of fire,
delight in RVs, museums and Georgia O’Keeffe painted flowers,
burning in the day and crisp as apples at night.
And I have seen mountain homes perched on boulders full of cougars,
skies the color of gems and rocks the color of blood,
ancient and new, colliding in a rush of miraculous glee,
filling me up under a blue New Mexico sky.

 

 

9/11

deeply
nestled within
the dull concrete debris
lie the bones of those who could not say
goodbye

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fear

fear is assuming
that the unfamiliar
is dark and evil

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hope

living on nothing
but promises and a dream
that things will work out

Friendship is a stab in the back.
You put your commitment
in friendship.
You put your love,
you put your heart.
Still,
friendship betrays you.
Like a wolf
turning away from
the pack.
But there’s
no pack
it’s just you and her
and she left me
left me for someone.
Someone
who I can’t bear to say.
That’s why I am here
writing poems
and she has forgotten
who I was,
who she was,
who we used to be.

 

 

unger is relentless.
Hunger keeps you going
while pulling you back.
Eating away at you soul,
your nerves,
your bones.
Hunger is
that box
always waiting
at your door step.
Making you remember.
Making you always hungry
for food,
for money,
for love.
Until the day
when there is no more hunger.
No more food
no more money
no more love.

Sadness
is like a crumpled up grey t-shirt.
Smushed,
filthy,
and
abandoned.
Yet,
there is something beautiful
about the grey t-shirt.
Something that makes you stare.
That sadness
like the t-shirt
can be picked up.
The beauty
of that it can always,
always get better.
Like a sad song,
or an old book.
Something beautiful
Out of something
others think worthless.

My sister Susannah,
has thick black curls, slanted eyebrows,
and a dimple on her cheek.
She is a fig tree,
short but determined,
facing the wind, never bending.

She came back every summer,
to see friends, to see family,
to see Philadelphia.
But one day would always be devoted to me.

That day we would walk,
around and around the city in circles,
like a lost child,
but we weren’t lost, we know the city like an old book,
the kind you read over and over.
The city was our home,
but she had to leave it.

We would go to places we loved,
like the art store or the book shop,
we’d go to places we hated,
like the dentist’s office.

We would go to places we had never been to.
She once said,
“Look around, Olivia,
you might love this place.”
So, I looked around.
I was a tired cat just waking up,
turning around and looking at everything,
before rolling over, and falling asleep again.

Then we’d go home, we would stay awhile,
then she would go back,
back to NYU and New York,
and I would stay and wave.
I was a smaller fig tree, just a sapling next to Susannah,
trying not to sway in the wind.

I’m from the scorching heat of the South,
from the place that rarely gets snow.
I’m from a small town,
from the countryside where everyone knows each other.
A place where kids run barefooted across their lawns.
Where the highlight of your day is being outside.
I’m from outside sprinklers and water hoses.
The trips to the beach.
From bike rides up and down the driveway,
and catching fish with bare hands.
I’m from the nights of Pat Sajak and Alex Trebek,
weekends of Thanksgiving-like dinners and ice-cream for dessert,
from home grown watermelons and okra.
I’m from greenery and nature
from love and tenderness,
a place that never changes.
I’m from a family of believers and scholars,
from the Holy Spirit.
I’m from a place that I always go back to,
Columbia, South Carolina.

 

 

End scene, a standing ovation.
You’re bowing to the crowd,
after performing the Broadway musical, “The Lion King.”
Suddenly you’re spinning,
around and around.
Then, you stop.
Now you’re flying through space,
zooming past comets and landing on the moon.
And again you’re spinning.
This time you’re walking through the desert,
scorching heat hitting your neck,
beads of sweat forming on your forehead.
The spinning starts again once more.
You’re on a boat. You can smell fish and salt water.
Someone rams you from behind.
You’re overboard, gasping for air,
trying to scream help.
Then, you plunge under,
sinking to the bottom.
When you think it is the end,
your eyes open.

It was only a dream.

 

 

Being the biggest is not strength
Strength comes from within
Pride does not make someone have strength
No one has power over anyone else
We are all equal
So how is it that people think they are much better than others
Although they may be physically stronger than you
They aren’t mentally
Why, because you weren’t the person to do wrong
That’s strength
Having the courage to be you
And the ability to except others
Show strength and not be a bully