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 circle
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 garden wall
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)