To Order Disintegration

Here is Mystery

We serve the Queen’s
Tea with equal parts
Order and Chaos

We hide in the birth canal
Snuggling into a pain
We know

Pale in her full moon bath,
Nude among the lotus
Each month she
Orders Disintegration

Each time emerging
A translation of
An ancient spell

We cook lamb and mint,
Strawberries and pour red wine
For her Hot Date
With Mystery

The court whispers, peeking
Through the door, “Will they
Finally make love?”

She wipes her lips
And leans to him, “Do you
Want to fuck?”

Don’t Glamorize the Wicked

You’ve lingered just a little too long in the bathroom for me to not be suspicious. There are pink boba, shaped like little flowers there are marshmallows with burnt on smiles in a creamy pastel drink and cotton candy placed as a cloud, blushing delicately above a cup of rolled ice cream.

“Mag, don’t you want a drink too?” Says Genny.

My friend, I am powerless when you take so long in the bathroom. I’ve never waited and worried before. Never waited and wondered before. Your little bones peek out these days your beaming eyes leak purple bruises your lips are cracked and bleed you are too thin. I’ve been there before oh how I wish I didn’t know.

Love is painful when I am powerless with you

Dear, an ice cream is enough for me. Do not feel pulled by the ghosts of my sharp habits you comment on eating 3 tacos on feeling a lack of control around friends. My chere, you are a lily that never dies.

Do Not Romanticize the Wicked Things that affect those I Love.


Summer 2018 (edited and posted in Winter 2020)

…And then Water came with an Attitude and a Diamond Ring

I wanted to, no, I needed to save them all. I was their god, and they depended on me. If they are hurt, it is in my name. I pray they never learn how resentful I am. But look how they sleep, pure and peaceful.

…And then water came, she was beautiful, she shook us up & tore everything down & hopped off to then next highway town with new golden earrings and a diamond ring. We never saw her again and things were never quite the same.

We all miss her smile.

I took a look around at all the babies and somehow they were all okay, tucked in tightly in bed. It’s almost as if they didn’t notice that water had come and gone at all. Maybe she hadn’t been as destructive as I thought.

God- how many years ago was that now?

Maybe she lulled them to sleep.

Maybe she’ll come back home.

Phantom Tourist

Passing gazes,
Intimate questions with
Strangers in the street.
This is what it means to be from New Orleans.
Walking by, visitor, where are you from?
Are you a saint or a ghost?
What do you hope to see here,
What magic do you seek,
What remedy will make you whole?

You ask to take my photo,
A thin rectangle appears.
I tell you to please keep it.

Spring 2019 (Edited and typed in Winter 2020)

Murder You, Anoint You Holy, and Call You Baby

Aware of the fear of the present
Moment that big cat stalks closer rustling
Sharp grasses. Somewhere between
Black gowns in my closet a rush against
Velvet and bleary eyed in bed I fumble
For that flashlight in the hot night & my sweaty
Fingers anxiously find the light.

There is a low thunder from Tiger’s throat.

& my trembling hands swoop a beam of light like a hawk in large arcs through the darkness

Tunnel vision. Rays and Squids could possibly float
In this dark expanse a feline predator lurks
Waits for me. Where might she be?

Cool sheets cling to me as I rise, toes first and spin, flashlight marking the walls.

Then

A parting in the leaves,
Expose
A pair of gleaming eyes
No, but it’s a mirror!
Oh, terror!
It is me!
Simply me
All of me
Ugly and sexy and soft, ready to murder to anoint you holy to call you baby

I wish I could look away

There is no cage

There is fear of the power within.

To Appraise Wonder: The Holy Mundane

I adore you quietly
You rest in slippers in my mind
There is no shaking of the
Walls of my heart
No prisoners, no hostages
You or
I cherish you purely
And yet I am hurt in the
Sweetest way comfort and care
Come along and take pain
Into swollen hands

& Heartbreak spends the night
With compassion and
I fall in love with wonder
At this grassy valley these
Soft creatures, again
And again that
Embrace the pain
Of heartbreak. The
Numb of solitude to have
A glimpse at a lover’s
Messy hair
Each morning to
Hum a body to
Collide with
Something Solid
Something
Human

I fall in love with the fragile pain of longing

This is not a story
I do not have to be okay
A happily ever after is not demanded by some
Celestial editor.
Censoring feelings and desires
Approving expressions of Pleasure
Rejecting the colors of Pain

I meet a tendency to
Chase wonder
Attribute healing
To grandness a possible
Exclusion not allowing the

Holy Mundane

To try her hand to whisper smaller truths
Looking for the drum beat
Listening for the bonfire who’s
Full moon is here? In the less
Exciting the Sacred Mundane
What does she have to say?

Maybe in Houston
In the Suburbs a
14 year old Blonde Girl may also
Look towards the moon she is
The Same moon
I might be dancing around
A fire in New Orleans, nude and
Kissed with emerald paint
In skirts in moss we sweat we
Circle hot air
Carries over to you
The Grasses under
Your Feet may be Manicured
Planted outside a Stucco House with
Broth colored walls. I
Couldn’t tell the difference between
The homes in your Existence yet
Maybe you could Maybe
The difference is all the matter
The Shades of Blonde
You choose to adorn your hair could
Make all the difference

Her Picket Fence
May look dead to me
Her mom’s SUV reflects
My moon crisply washed
Yet she is the same moon
I worship and maybe as
You gaze towards her
You will choose to live another day
Maybe you worship her in a way
I will Never understand

Maybe someone will find tiny spells
In Cracks in the Stucco
Maybe someone will find salvation
In a gardenia flower behind an Air Conditioner Unit

Those Mockingbirds are as revered as a roseated spoonbill
Those Grasses as meaningful as the haunted cypress

In fact it is I that limits wonder
I am not the appraiser of magic
There is wonder all around me
All the time.

You do not have to prove you are Alive



____
Fall 2019

Who brings Sunflowers to a Moonlit Mass?

Mary,
My beating Heart
It was never me who was broken

Magdalena you saw I was wounded but
I saw the wounds as who I
Was told it was part of my brain

Mary I was never sick

Mag I am not sick

Maggie such normalcy,
not drama, I
told them I loved the drama
dress in black
Adorn with creatures of the night
Wearing sunflowers does not
Kill the freak in me, this part
loves pale flowers that
Only bloom
Under full moons

I am the favorite nectar of bats
Weaving serpents to slumber in my braids

Mary my brokenness is not empty
We tell ourselves what we need to hear
We tell others what we really need to hear

We dance with werewolves at the moonlight mass

2019 (Spring or Summer)

I Don’t Recommend Creating an Entire World

I can make a cage beautiful.

Childhood disorientation in Cajun Country, Louisiana late 90s isolated Family Trauma I struggled to understand what was happening around me so I created imaginary worlds: paracosms, something I could understand, somewhere beautiful and just for me to organize and create rules and guidelines which brought other children to me through creating myself as strange and shocking in the conservative Southeast.

Ability to turn inward from the external chaos, a choice to live in stories live in imagination so the dive into storytelling was natural. I created imaginary worlds with these complex narratives and characters and creatures and whole generations of royalty and history that went back hundreds of years. Saturday nights were for staying up late drawing maps of the kingdom and creating poetry of their hero’s tale. There were wars to mediate and rally my classmates to join. I created special devices that were handheld and carried creatures from class to class tucked under my arm and more and more to create and expanding this world of endless possibility. Other children were drawn in by the bizarre and the ones that were repelled, I never liked them anyway. There was a rush, a power in the polarization I manifested.

As an adult I thought, well, who do want to be? I want to be a witch. I want to be a poet. I want to be this weird, ethereal thing that lives in this strange, fantasy aquarium, a fairy terrarium. Almost a thing of myth, a semi secret character who is shut off from everything and you can look in this regular, inconspicuous home and see this strange little world that just takes your breath away that is decorated with moss and lavender, ivy and animal skulls adorned with black roses it’s like a secret discovery I’m always looking into a weird little world of sorts, usually hidden in plain sight if you just know where to look in the palm of my hand and not only am I gazing into and feeling pulled in deeper especially to care for this world and these creatures, their pure survival dependent on me.

But the truth is I have placed myself into that world so not only am I looking into it, holding it in my hands but I am physically trapped in that world too which was created to understand something, anything in the chaos to feel a shard of agency it is Mine created in beauty and wonder, created in a last ditch effort for salvation. This I can choose to share or define there is a clear idea of my role and my expectations, I am needed and important. And yet it is simple that as I stare as a zombie into this small treasure, eyes in a mirror stare blankly back into me. For I created myself in my perfect image, in my perfect imagination. For I am trapped here as well, trapped into my own perfect creation.

I can make a cage beautiful.

Fall 2019

Black Moth

I dream in fear an Iridescent Black Moth has
Landed on my plate of satsumas but
Genny comes & with such heartbreaking compassion
Scoops him into her palm and brings him outside
Shushing “it’s gonna be okay lil’ guy.”
The little frames his wings may contain
Sleep dust or some sort of ordinary magic
Maybe Genny recognizes the Fae in him
By god, he surely recognizes the Fae in her yet
What message he may have or perhaps just
Fell off his trip to the gas station for
A pack of cigs and a pixie stick
For now they are the only breathing creatures that
Exist in all of space and time and here
They witness the other and the eternal
Absolute that none has felt understood before
The beauty was the amount of gentleness and
Total acceptance with no hesitation that Genny
Gave this creature.
The Magic was the trust that this creature had in her.

Fall 2019

I Knew She Was My Savior When She Infected Me With Her Bite.

From time to time I feel myself in some sort of rag tag community. We are separated, quarantined from society sometimes a tribe or a large broken family or survivors of war. We are those left behind we are those sent to start anew, in torn clothing we are cast away always young people often ones I recognize and sometimes there is a leader but they’re never around. It’s always a dystopian environment like a facility for disturbed young adults with a heavy lock in an abandoned warehouse with twin bunk beds in narrow columns 100 feet up the metal walls and piles of pink trash bags in each corner. Other times we are in the woods, half-lost and half-found at the mercy of the elements. Always it is chaotic, it is dizzying. I get the idea that I need to fend for myself, there is no one preaching mercy or counting sins.

A few weeks ago, I found myself in a thick woods, there were many young people there- we were a sort of tribe or camp and maybe it was springtime, the trees were sad but green and there was a bitterness to the air but a feeling like some horror was past like we had survived a harsh and deadly winter and at least we were still alive. I knew there were some guys out here I had dated long ago, before all this happened but I hadn’t seen them in a while and I figured they were off doing their own thing. It was pretty hard out there and you had to learn to take care of yourself first, it was a cruel lesson.

There was a girl and she was wild. I met her in a pink bikini on a lawn chair by a moldy pool with brassy hair and scrapes on her elbows. When she smiled everything felt warm and a sunflower blossomed in my chest. She needed some help and soon enough we spent every day together. No one was really in charge here, and we were often cold and a little muddy and didn’t have quite enough food. We weren’t starving by any means but I looked at her pale and cold and a little too skinny and I felt guilty she couldn’t have a better life. She deserved more and I wanted to give her that. She never once stopped smiling for me.

People seemed to rush on by, everyone on their own mission, no time to see us here on the side of the road. One day we were hanging out and I noticed I had bug bites and bruises on my hips. It was painful and tender and I was a little worried. She bent over me and with a playful smile she bit me hard on the left hip, leaving a large gash that looked like when I used to cut myself with razor blades back home, but much larger than anything I had ever managed. She felt bad, didn’t mean to do it that deep. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes. She felt real bad.

The wound was very triggering and tender, the pain reminded me of times that were far worse than now, before I had her. Others were almost afraid of it, afraid of me. Their eyes flit from the gash to my eyes and then quickly away. Although I excelled at wound care, a skill I as forced to learn, we didn’t have any medical supplies other than old rags. No clean bandages, no ointment or alcohol. Too soon, I realized, it would become infected. It was a chilling realization.

We had to leave.

This dawned on me like a ice bucket over my head. We were too cold and damp, we were not starving but we were far from comfortable. I knew my wound would not heal in these conditions. The wound was too deep, it was too jagged. We had to leave. Where were the guys?

I told her we had to go and she agreed without skipping a beat of her heart. She would follow me to the lifeless dust of mars, to the suffocating humidity of Venus. There was no need for her to know the truth, which was that if we stayed, I would surely die. This dripping wound, her wound upon me would become infected and I would die here in this empty place. I would die here and leave her alone.

We waited for the new moon and left at night so no one could see us go. She calculated the phases of the moon on her little chart yet I had no idea where we were headed or if there even was a better place but I would rather die in my escape than in that cold land. We had to leave. I took her hand by night and in the shadow of the moon we took cover. I guided her up boulders across valleys her torn jeans her nails were full of soil we waded through thick waters and brine and stench and creatures and rumble of thunder and she was fearless, she was fucking fearless she stared into the eyes of the wild and the wild bowed, humbled. I led her through the abyss, no idea where we were headed or which stars to follow and follow she did, every step of the way god why did she trust me so. Yes she always believed in me, she did. God why did she trust me so.

We traveled, half starved yet I remember little more of the journey other than the fear and I remember little of the new place we found other than that we were inside and we were safe and warm and clean and dry. I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her up into my lap and kissed her soft lips and I said, “come here my girl, I fuckin love you. How did I not see, you’ve been here all along. You’ve been by my side. I fucking love you, I’m so sorry”

And I held her and she held me too and soon I realized that I had not saved her at all, not me, not the absent guys, not the shadow of the moon. In full lucidity she saved me. She initiated me into the inability to remain. She marked me, bit me, healed me. She is the catalyst for the realization that enough is enough. That we were surviving, but that was all. We could not thrive there any longer. We had to make that terrifying journey in search of something greater. She showed me that I was greater.


What she saw in me
She fucking saw me
Not the guys, where the fuck were they?
Where were they when we were cold and hungry?
She has always been here.


She has seen right through me.


Only then did I realize.


I cannot survive in this role this story is no longer okay I am enough as I am I cannot maintain the facade I can no longer be polite I will die here if I don’t leave she has infected me with her bite oh I thought I was her savior yet somehow she saw right through me somehow she knew and it became real, I became real, and the truth behind the truth is that I needed her as much as she needed me and she has healed me as much as I have healed her.

October 2019