Rosary

I wear a rosary, five decades long
around my neck--all summer, all winter. 
I keep it close--you can't touch the beads without touching my skin
or occasional sidewalk seraphim.

I've got a thousand faces, wigs on wire stands
kept at the bottom of a duffel--in the closet at the back of my skull.
Choose one, kiss me, wrap a strand around your knuckle
and behold me--raving beauty, former flame, ordinary uggo. 

Water, blessed, still and calm
for angel or centurion--
bless dawn, bless noon, bless sprays of stars
and all that were and all that are.

I've got a lineage, five mothers long
around my neck--all summer, all winter. 
I'm the little girl made of snow, the bride in the vestibule gartered, veiled,
given away--then gone through a dream door, armored, mailed. 

I speak a thousand tongues, Latin and patois
tell scalding truths--in solitude, under storm and palm--
I'm the girl next door, a holy whore, a musical prodigy without instrument
or tenets, a wild child--your pass around pack, your sacrament.

Water, blessed, still and calm
for angel or centurion--
bless dawn, bless noon, bless spray of stars
and all that were and all that are.
_______

For Brendan's multiplicity prompt at Toads on Day 4.

ringmistress

Nobody told me it was Cirque de Soleil in here.
When I was five,
every time I closed my eyes,
colors, creatures, patterns, movement.

Mama, you saw the vacuum cleaner,
or me staring out the window.
I saw my head exploding behind my eyelids.

All any adult ever told me was
pay attention
apply yourself
stop daydreaming and listen.

To what?
To the ghost-man nobody else seems to know about?
He followed me halfway up the stairs.
He chased me out of the basement.
He lived next to the water softener,
but could also come upstairs.

To the voices I hear when I'm tired?
Men, women, chattering away in snatches about nothing.
Or, to you?
To my brother?
I soak up your anger, your confusion, your frustration,
till I can't tell what is mine and what isn't.
"Why are sitting in here by yourself?"
Jesus Christ.

There is a difference between a trained tiger and one that's loose.
Nobody told me it was Ringling Brothers in here,
or that it isn't the same for everyone.
I grew up a little stunned, overwhelmed, spinning in the storm.
Now I call down the thunder,
and people say, "I want to spend an hour inside your head."

No you don't. 
The circus is permanently in town,
the gate is open,
and while they are used to me, and willing to perform,
my tigers don't know you,
and I can't be responsible for what they might do to a noob.

_______

for mag #219

I am

I am a gravel road of a girl,
a glass jar filled with sharp-edged sea shells;
a spiky tail of a girl, swishing,
not the sort of girl you could take to dinner and impress anybody.

I have tried, at times, to be as smooth as a table top,
smooth as the slice-side of a wheel of cheese,
but the flock fills the arms of my sweater,
the body boils with them--

I am not going be able to stand still for long like that.

Did you hear me singing?
Did you say, please, please honey, shut up?--
that was the flock, filling my throat, stealing my breath,
rushing out of me with ribbons of red in their beaks.

Did you wonder why my kiss was so hungry,
my hands so restless?
I was afraid you would feel the flock and leave.
I was afraid I would have to give back your kisses before I even tasted them.

As for my hands, I was holding on.
The flock wants to take me like an updraft,
they want me to see what they see
until my illusions freeze one by one and the sky storms me back out.

I am a devil dancer of a girl,
a heart beating in a talon cage;
I am a blemished stone of a girl, swung on a leather string,
not the sort of girl you could leave at home and expect good things to happen.

I am a million wings with a soul inside.
I am gone like a broke-backed rat.
From the nest I came and to the nest I return,
and if I am torn apart and devoured, then at least I will be home--

in death I will be done,
silent, sky-shocked,
and still at last.
_______

 

Candlehead

in a cup of ceramic moon bone,
i nest my ignited constellations.
i keep two eyes--
one for hot, one for cool--
kiss me and taste the entire sky.
______

this is my attempt at a tanka, for Real Toads. my dislike for oriental forms is widely known, so if this doesn't fit the bill, please choke on a cherry blossom!