Elizabeth

Lizzie
Originally uploaded by Callooh.

she carries my heart

in a bucket of sand

she uses to make

sandcastltes,

and collects water from

the ocean

and shells

for its walls

the fight

locked
Originally uploaded by Callooh.

I

boys’ toy
blades made jagged

notched swords
made from BBQ tools
rusted
from sleeping too long
in mud puddles

sharpened stick swords
edged with brown teeth

the echoing laughter
of lawn chaired men

inside
with newly
washed hair

I make beds
and my own boy
I must send
out
to play

the antiqued white sheets
are smelling of freshly
boxed sunshine
- perfectly folded -
pillows placed
diagonally

I wait
till I am called forth
to heal


II

until I
stepped out
of the prim and pretty little box
of freshly laundered inside sunshine
I had prepared
for me
to the world
I had flung my boy.
into a humanity where
cheap sex is gendered
inflated.
coveted.
and where 'love'
is fought for
till it is expended
and then, not-required
-redundant-
-distained-
here are the world’s lessons
for my son.
first to Demean,
and then to
Debase.


III

and so
I am named
Melodrama
for daring to tread
inside of
their fight, my only blade
a small and inadequate
knife.

encircled
in attempts to disgrace

first, my face
slashed
my hair hacked at
my fingers, then
my hands,
are incised - bloodied

for a cause
I can no longer distinguish
done by hands in which I once
felt secure.


IV

until
falling open my hands
and dropping the knife
I reject the fight
absolutely, and
all external definitions
of me

no longer an item for outside blade’s
vivisections, not
a subject for trite objectifications
not to be known by feeble
attempts to pigeon-hole

I discard completely and
no longer conform to
the world’s definition
of me.
the earth is my own, my
home, and my arms, I
now fling open

I am rooted
as myself
unequivocally.

s M i L e S

crystal ball whirley
Originally uploaded by Callooh.

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-
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CloWNs SMilE

to TeRRiFy

(me)

- - -

tHAt iS wHAt thEy’RE TauGHt

iN CloWNinG SchOOl

tHAt, aND othER

ThiNGs

- - -

I tHInK - ONly I

cAn heAR thEIr SCReaMinGS

tHE MetaLLiC GLintiNG EdgES

oN thEIr tOO-PiNK clOWn tonGUes –

(I’vE sEEn THeM rIGhT-uP-clOSe)

tHEy SPArklE – lIKe stePPed oN glaSS

thEY sOUnD - liKe tHE TRIcycLe riMS

(tHe ONes TAKen frOm smaLL losT childreN)

scrEEchiNG tOGethER

bEFore tHE hEAds maDE

tHE hoLLoW SmaCK

- - -

aND evERYboDY LauGHs

ANd ClaPs iN

~ s ~ L ~ o ~ W ~ m ~O ~ t ~ I ~ o ~ N ~

(INsiDe mY hEaD)

- - -

tHIs iS ClOWninG

(INsiDe mY hEAd)

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-
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reading poetry

hammock
Originally uploaded by Callooh.

What sound is this
his shadows make
that brushes 'cross my thighs
sighs borrowed from wind
as love he makes
through inclined willow's branches
dropping diamonded leaves
as question marks
green breezes wove in wooden chimes
lifting lightly gilded wings
before caressing
with lovers hands
my restless hair
my waiting face
eclipsing all of me
leaving
within me
hushed emerald light
as his gentle soul
stains softly
the edges
of my heart
spreading out
his zephyred ripples
to the very ends
of me.