the doubts which whisper in my ear

Fleeting doubts are formless and hushed. They crackle like kindling but not like a fire; just a weak undercurrent of sound in my mind. Regret rings faint like the weezing whistle of my nose as I breathe heavy into the pillow just hoping to suffocate. Murmurs, unintelligible and breathless, like when you tried to talk through your neck.  Oh yes, I do have my momentary doubts. Swift as currents they pass. Cars sound like waves as they pass by on the highway. Fast. My doubts pass the same way too. Too quick to read the license plate. Was that a vanity plate or what? I would dive in the street if it would fix everything but sometimes it's just a total wreck, a salvage yard reject. We were happy once. Right? But even my doubt I doubt. Like, really Caroline....can you name a date? a time? a place? Blank. Silent. It had to have happened-why else would I stay? But it's just like the thousands of sentences I think I said aloud to you but instead doubt crept in slinky as a cat, because you didn't respond. Did you ignore me? Did you not hear me? Or was it that I only imagined speaking? The doubt overshadows it. Then I doubt again. He will be rebuilt. As machine on bone; as metal on flesh; as I breathe and die; science will defy God and make that man live again. Live in limbo, purgatory, live to find me out; holding his ventilated breath till the next foot drop... Till the mortar erodes, and if I had stayed, I'd be the one pouring the water. I'd be the creek that made the Grand Canyon. I'd feed him his poison because my voice wavers to say no. I'd empty out my bank account drop by drop to form the creek and drown him in my own tears when I saw the ripe fruits of my labor. But that's not what happened. Elusive. I'm hallucinating. Was it dreaming then or now? Was I dreaming when I said I love him or when I said I still love him? Was I lying or dreaming? Because I left him before that. And now he is getting better. The fire that fueled his recovery-his anger- will be the fire that burns me at the stake. I'm a witch. Haunted by ghosts that live. Can a man in a wheelchair chase you in your dreams? No. I know the answer is no....and my voice wavers even at that no. Doubt. Whose love child is this divorce, bastardized and waiting to breech and wail and be split in two by the judge, the Biblical and Holy and Wise King David on St. Patrick's Day? This is my undoing. The doubts which caged my no. The fears which locked me in patterns, wefts. Teeter Totter; pull and push; apprehension and hesitation. Just barely a second. A tick of the big hand from six to seven. Ringing in my ears but muted. Like a cough from the balcony in a live recording. Like my wedding ring when I opened the box which I forgot it was in. It's not even loud here like I thought it would be because I even doubt my doubts the rare moment I even can hear one.

make peace

A question I can't answer

or maybe I just don't want to-

it's like the waking up too early,

car-shaking, howling winds,

sugar and cream in black coffee,

and the pleasure of eating till sick.

When asked, the answer unfolded

as naturally, as soft, as intimate 

as flower petals, labias caressed,

blossoming, water color sunrises,
the coil and curl of flaring skirts,

and a farmer wiping his brow.

So ask again, only you can ask:

Why am I here? Why am I with you?

It's just like how Haiti nuzzles into

the Dominican Republic, and it rains

in the rain forest, and my heart 

and my body needed your heart and

your body, so I'll rest and not ask more.

vacation style

weave my body into the bed
it's patchwork quilt time
when two scraps make whole.
stipple in and out the sheets,
housekeeping crisp and ignored,
as sandbag legs get thrown
over working shoulders,
broad and bare,
to the grind, grind, grind of
Chicago's street lights,seeping
through the drapes,
through the flesh, peeled back
and shedding snake's skin old.

you can do a whole lot of nothing in a whole lot of years

I slipped past slimey green rocks
to wash my toes in the river flowing
dried off with towels of willow leaves.
Settled, clean, inhaling puffs of clouds
which coughed back into the sky,
I wrapped my hair in plaits of wildflowers.
Hungry, I chewed on earthen acorns,
till my teeth splintered and popped

Laid back on lazy lawn, contrite life,
from day to night to day again.
This atonement, these fears,
the humbling, rolling years
drifting down the bank, yet I am still
just the tiny pebble me:
rough not smooth,
cold not warm,
and terrifyingly at home
not moving at all.

honeydo list

you messaged me
just to check in on your stuff
another list, don't forget
the bookshelves
the books
the wii
the games
the playstations
the nes
the records
the record player
the clothes
the the the the
it went on and on
but what i won't forget is
i am in love with a man
who cares more about a $10 bookshelf
than i think he cared for me.

primeval post-marriage

I could break you with my thighs,
venom teeth, blazing gems on dagger rings
elegant fists, coiled, holding flaming coals
bragging while drinking your tears...but I won't.

I won't recoil into a fortress dark
build up cemented walls of male bodies,
or swim burning pools of woe and whiskey
or army crawl on loaded hips, scraped knees.

I do not get lost in you, no more Gulliver
largely awkward, stumbling in your fragile world
calculated steps, miserable and sanitized, protecting
compromised immune systems and boy ego.

I should smudge your spirit out with sage
vacuum up each skin flake, bath in crystals
emerge from menstrual blood, witchy good
cleansed in moon tides and free.

I will just shed you faster than uterine lining
without a flinch, a cramp, a cough, a gleam.
just your neatly folded band shirts, clean
records respectfully boxed, waiting patiently.

Because I rise from burnt amber ashes all the time
golden but feminine, searching and fearless
still open, pure and true, knowing even
if my legs are lost, I'll will just make wings.

for the dearest bwk

you smoked merit cigarettes, gpc, now pall mall

nicotine sweat stained sheets, a soft jersey sea

folded waves green, a failed marriage wedding gift

i think the house is full of the lot, of crispy flowers

faded and decaying, maybe they were fake

a fire mantle alter praising your past mistakes.

it's the spritz and fizz of cold coke cans but

later then, generic 2 liters diet and caffeine free

its clinks of ice in the same glass mug

brim greasy and discolored in semi-circle kiss

your lips aligned as you drink handle in right hand

unsettled and changing just illusion of chaos

you always been my stability.