Preface

Through community, I have been able to find home and solace within myself, the universe, and the natural world. From a spatial location, feeling, or person, home is where you feel safe and held. I have had a hard time finding and defining home in my lifetime and these poems reflect that journey.

Temperate

Home is the front of my pillow when I wake...

warm and molded from the weight of my dreams,

and leaving marks on my skin like a tattoo of memory.

Similar to the lipstick kisses my mom would leave on my cheek

as she left with another ain’t-shit man,

or the lines left by her hand on my face

after she slapped it when I told her so.

Because my dreams were heavy.

Like sneaking out and pushing my luck,

hoping that this time she might care enough to notice-

this time she might yell because she loves me,

and not because she can’t.

Because home is yelling... crying...screaming

to move off the warm side of the pillow,

because it has suddenly become so hot, it feels like hell.

And I want so desperately to flip to the cold side-

to release myself from the weight of this sleep paralysis,

and feel something other than jealousy

for the birds that chirp freely outside my window.

But I can’t...

For, home is the front of my pillow when I wake…

Warm and molded from the pressure of my dreams.

Train poetry

My favorite part of home

was feeling my tears

slide slowly down my brown cheeks-

like a small stream-

trace the top of my pink lips,

before finding estuary at the line of my mouth,

and dropping unto my favorite purple sweater.

I used to call it watercolor.

It painted my emotions like art;

turning something abstract within my mind,

into something thick and tangible.

But either way you always chose not to see it.

Even when those tears reflected the light,

and made rainbows dance across my skin,

like a puddle after it rains.

So maybe this time...

touch me so your eyes won’t mistake you.

I never knew my heart had lungs

until it started to suffocate under the weight of your denial.

But you always liked to grip it

tear it apart

and hold it down, didn’t you?

So please,

what difference does holding my cheek

to feel the dew of my pain, do for you?...

When the only way to feel me, is to not.

Redefinition

My poems have become my refuge-

my spiritual utopia.

The words drench my consciousness--a well of untapped ancestral power.

While the prose strings itself together like lights.

They are an embodiment of my soul's deepest truths.

For, between each line I hold my secrets and my dreams

and within each subject, my deepest prayers.

These pieces have become my home...

the place I feel most safe and held.

Sunsual Healing

Dear sun,

Thank you for finding me through the clouds…

for shining on my face.

Your warmth brings radiance to my cheeks, like kisses

on this rainy day.

The seas could not begin to fill

the depth of my gratitude.

For your existence is my eternal guide,

and I find home in your fortitude.

As the seasons change and the wind blows crisp,

I feel autumn on my brow.

But even in distance you steal the show

And a million bows.