Photo from lifeinitaly.com –
The Lovely Italian Doors and their Designs

There Is a Room in My Heart
{or  Housecleaning}


Hubris:

I am not
like other girls
walking in malls
wearing mirrors out ,
newscaster hair
brought to you by the color pink.

I am comfortable in grayscale layers,
scarlet inside.
My mind is an unfinished cathedral
made of wire
difficult to climb and tame,
crystal heart
vast, fragile and peopled.

There is a room in it
with your name.
There is a door.
There are no jails
made for our guilty eyes.
The Bull is the Goddess’ constant companion.
There is no airtight chamber
for feelings.

In our time
Planes crossed the skies
white threads crocheting
our narrative,  thin like icy air.

Woven strands of vapor and steam
our strength
blown, blown by northern winds.

Namaste,
All that is best and highest in me greets and salutes all that is best and highest in you.

I remain, ever, your trusted friend.

Forgive these broken letters.
Time is the measure of poetry.
I can only speak to you in allegories
for my mouth and hands
are bound.
This is my answer.
Shoot the artists and poets
for they play with fire.
Hide their dangerous words.

I am imperfect
I still leave
lipstick stains on pillowcases
-the eyes of a fawn in the forest-
I set my house in order
as one reorganizes
thoughts and feelings,
heart and mind.

Patience.
The fields need to be readied
before the seeds can be sown.

The names of the rooms are continuously changing,
the landscape threatening to
shatter into a million tiny pieces.
A myriad teacandles on the Ganges at Diwali-
Walls dissolving into pearls
falling in unison.

Our house was built on quicksand
thick with secrets.
I clean the city
off the window blinds.

San Diego, November 2012