cookie cutter

everytime a child comes back home,
god takes a cookie cutter
and imprints that person's eyes
into the black cloak above
and these are what we call stars
and i found my great grandmother's last night
i knew they were hers
because they twinkled at me with affection
and i refuse to do wrong
under those eyes full of admiration
full of expectation
and perhaps god's eye
is the moon
he only needs one eye open to see me
because my father's heart makes up for the rest
so, who do you live up to?
who's looking down on you?
and are you going to blow them a kiss tonight
filled with your fulfilled potential?

splinter

you are a wooden doll
and your basic mechanical functions
are familiar to me.
and for many months,
i surround myself in the security of knowing -
knowing the way you appear
knowing the way you act
knowing the way you just simply are.
but in amidst this play time,
you gain control of your arms
which have splinters poking out
and you pick up a bundle of masks.
vibrant colors with rainbow ribbons streaming behind -
red, blue, white, black, green and yellow.
and you amuse yourself with these objects
as i stand in the corner on the opposite side
in complete disbelief.
every time i open the toy box
you have a new identity -
and i have to adjust.
this pretending overshadows what i already know
to the point where even you don't know if you're acting.
and i watch as you get so caught up
in your roles
that you take your own wooden face off
and you don't even realize it's gone.
but i do.
and you don't see yourself going in circles.
but i do.
and you're so content with confusion
that the floor became your sanctuary
and you never looked at top shelf
where the most beloved possessions toil.
one day, you'll stagger in your rush
and accidentally step on your own wooden face
that you carelessly took off.
and from the fragment that contains your clear eye,
a rainbow tear will smoothly roll
onto that death floor you love so much.

soap

are you trembling
at the thought of climbing up
and looking down at where you once slept?
huddled in your flimsy tissue box
soaked with mud -
and do you really find satisfaction in this?
the hardest part for you will not be climbing -
but merely standing up.
and this half step towards your buried pride
will equal my stair case.
but you don't realize where you are now
because you squeeze your eyes shut and they wrinkle on the sides.
how many times do i have to descend
just to reveal a vision you refuse to see?
how many more times do you think i will do this?
the days are numbered
and your gray skin saddens me…
just because i know they are ashes
and we both know they can come off,
but you refuse to wash your cloak away.

wing

she rejoiced at my birth
and has hovered over my form as a child -
as i crossed streets to chase a ball
as i jumped off trees
as i have been confronted by frothing stray dogs
as i struggle in my sleep
she whispers in my ear and her words compose a lullaby in my mind
of which there is no language for
but i comprehend it all the same.
without a word, she catches all of my falling tears
in the palm of her cupped hand
just so she can feel the hurt
and i wimper, "each tear carries a story…let me tell you mine"
and she listens
and blows paper kisses to me.
now, when i have crossed over the garden,
filled with thorns, flowers, weeds, and fruit -
i ache to go home to my father.
and as i pull death's blanket over my head,
i take my angel's hand -
which has always been too close to touch -
to guide me back.

when i hug god again

daddy, it's so good to be home because it's cold out there
i see without the black lily veil and my eyes are lighter
oh – there's the photo album you made for me…
fingers grasp snapshots from the artwork which was my life.
first steps, rainbows made from crayons, my pink bicycle -
all in vivid color.
cookie dough, grandma's kisses, mud pies -
the colored pictures make me smile.
the black and white photos seem nonexistent -
running mascara from sins, lost love, and those who betray.
my head shakes back and forth as i wish i could have seen -
seen past the pain to view colorful lessons and growth
seen past what others built it up to be
seen past my own pride.
in the plastic pages, there is a grain of dust
which represented all my pain and trials.
oh, look – it's my oldest brother coming to welcome me home.
i caress the wounds in his hands and his arms envelope me.
i flip through his photo album and when i reach the plastic pocket,
i ask where his grain of dust was
and he points to the mountain we were standing on.

free

i hold my breath as i stare at you through glass bricks,
and wonder why you run into the cold
after throwing your jacket at me
the shivers make you smile and the lonely warmth makes me frown
this is all a trick and i let the coat float
gently to the floor
and it lands with a metal thud -
or was that my heart coming down to reality?
i shrug off the concern and chip my way out of the prison
with a confident feather and the peices fall at my feet
a cloud strolls by casually and turns the glass gray
i take his hand and laugh as i pass over your head
you look around for the source of mocking -
in front, left, down, behind, and right -
but not up
you never did look above you very much
just what was on your level
and my shoulders ache with memories
of holding you up so you could see out my window