If only she could..

Waking up draped in Italian linens with ornate lacework
Tea will be served in tiny porcelain cups on the ivy covered veranda
or in the library, surrounded by his leather and paper and maps
Bathed in the sun of a Spanish morning
The aroma of romance still lingers on her skin,
as he walks through the door



Taken from homes distant shore to be tossed in the deep waves.
Her children left to cry for a mother they'll never see again.
Breasts hang heavy and low, not able to feed her own baba.
She is taken to a strange place, full of faces from many tribes.
All of them so beautiful, so brave....so scarred, so scared.
Here she will care for the wit children.
Sometimes she pretends that they are her own.
She doesn't know which fate is worse...the motherless child, or the childless mother.



Don't be surprised to discover it
Take it in your hands and mold it
Make of it whatever you will
Only your artistic hands can craft this
Feminine curves, a worthy vessel
Foundation solid as the baked clay
An astounding work of art


Love can be...

Love can be tough and sinewy
Love can be tender and sweet
Love can be hard iron
Love can be soft talcum sprinkles
Love can be...


Bottle Tree

Mashing her thoughts together
like last nights potatoes
She stays too long in the past again
Staring at nothing and seeing everything
Analyzing her own weak condition
Bottles whistle and shine on the tree
Cobalt instruments of the wind
Keeping away the troubled spirits


Looking a gift horse in the eye

Spreading your words like a sweet icing
Glossing over her pain with the same tired prose
Put on display in a shiny window, then
boxed up and tied with twine
Given to her as a gift
One she's received one hundred times before
She has no need to unwrap them now
It's become easy to quote gifts verbatim
Binding the gift horses mouth,
she can't wait to feel like a woman again