3 birds

three birds flashed before my eyes

you, me, and elohim

what a holy trinity I thought

comedic and full of errors

we made sure to leave room

for tragedy

to honor the past that was

burning between

my fingers as I came home

to me

now I can really see

now I can really see

We had to burn the past for my shadows

to breathe free

freedom knocks when forgiveness calls

and we are home deep within

a core that bleeds upward

 

 

 

3 birds

Phina (“the burning ones”)

Ask all the big questions

Ask them to yourself

Ask me

Look up and ask the universe

why we’re starting to look like our souls

Look down at the spaceships we call feet

and think about the first time

you let them take you someplace new

because it was time to move forward

and then ended up on a porch where you found

the words you always hoped to find

for the things you knew were there

but couldn’t see

until you turned on all the lights

in the bedroom of your mind

to find your way here

home

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Phina (“the burning ones”)

When You Let Your Bodies Talk

One balmy Sunday morning sometime in September, I opened my eyes to him. It was then I came to understand the wordless conversation. We talked so many, many times before-but none of that seemed to compute anymore-it was just filler anyway. Our conversations really live in the soft rustle of the sheets while our limbs slide against one another. This is where they were always meant to be.

”                        ” he said.

”                        ” I said back.

I stretch out on the flannel plaid sheets and I laugh. A small release of sound, more like a hiccup than anything else. Everything is clear in the absence of words. We focus on the yawn of the box spring instead. I listen for the crescendo of his breaths. He turned to me and pulled me in so my nose lightly grazed his neck. I now know this is our morning greeting. The shells for our bodies press together and we know this translates to, “I’m awake.”

His fingers trace the freckles on the edge of my cheeks while I capture his other hand in one of mine. We are bound together by the conversation of our bodies-these are the words we couldn’t risk to say aloud.

This doesn’t last all morning though. Eventually we share a sad look that means, “we have other responsibilities today.” So, we fall from the cloud and onto the stale carpet. I laugh as I watch him struggle to find his glasses so he can find his shirt.

And then the illusion is broken. We leave each other and walk off into a day of meaningless words; we stumble off to answer questions like, “Did you read that e-mail?” and “How is your love life?”

”                     ,” I say.

 

 

 

 

When You Let Your Bodies Talk