Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

There it was! Thought I would never hear the creak of that hearts door opening
Ever so slightly- almost felt the flutter of angel wings
Every step every decision
Having to go back and find pieces of my soul

In Nigeria-1985- my husband; a big man
There in the streets of apapa with a fancy stroller
That will not move on dirt and gravel
A Driver- and a nanny-
I was so young and stupid
Telling my husband he was racist
That he had slaves
He would wave his italian arms in the air” oh Jana please”
My heart had a hard time seeing that much sickness and poverty
He said” you can give away what I make in a day”
Maybe he was right I think now
Watching beautiful animals of the sea
On tv
I’m so tired but I cannot sleep and I’m tired of having sex alone
I lost myself to passion
Chasing the sensual
Believe in love like a religion
I wanted to love desperate
I liked the gasping for air
When my clock was ticking
I left that piece in a house in Oregon
The buffalo farm in Clatskanie

I’m old now
I need my soul to be whole

I wanted a cigarette so bad
No I just cannot
Pretend
I wanted to be a real lady
Tiny boned and cute
But I am tall and amazon like
I go to the gym
I’m sixty and people seem surprised
Love shatters the soul
Not intentionally
It just is so strong
Rearranging the nervous system to crave more
More love more sex more everything
Love is more
Or less?
I lost my soul
I did not pass that test
I just want to have some super sex and some laughs
That might be much to ask apparently
I guess there is another option
Wait
Until I fix my foot.
Wait until ...
see it is too scary

Ok - big smile -

Watching Polly and her cat “ Mattie”
She is making some tarts with kiwi
Raspberries in the middle
She is not sleeping again
Brown rice and aminos
That’s all she eats
And Amy’s frozen TV dinners

There is paper on the floors and tape
She says there was a flood
That she cannot afford anything
I offered a 2 dollar an hour discount
She is spinning convinced the neighborhood is unfriendly
She is terrified of the world
Door knobs with tape over them
This is not New York City
And there is nothing to steal
She thinks the lady accross the street is stealing her rice

I ask “ how can I bring Polly some joy?”
She is gluten free and does not eat crackers

I ask “ how can I bring Polly some joy?”
She is gluten free and does not eat crackers

Bring her something that gives you both joy -

your honest descriptions go beyond poetry
into the realm of the last truthful reporter,
always enjoy the ride

....think about pink lungs

My lungs seem to be pink most of the time
I get a little crazy
I was just listening to a “ friend “
She is so angry
She eats
At the world
It is not always easy to listen
I feel so intense
Afterwards
Like the residue of her feelings are still lingering
Like perfume
I wish that my gift was sometimes less about hearing
And repositioning words so that they can hear
I wish that I did not understand the struggles she has
I have been down that road
She cannot hear