I put my cynicism aside for one day

A silly workshop on God and community
talking sticks, “I statements” and circles.

And harvest.

The speaker is exposed when she speaks the word,
a nunly woman in a peasant skirt and crystals
with the sweetest voice I ever heard,
eyes like grandma’s, blue and wise.

Harvest, harvest, harvest.

Webster- “to gather in a crop,”
The beautiful nun- “to listen, understand,
collect each other’s words, repeat with a goal of oneness.”

I once wrote to a woman, “We are each other’s harvest.”

Me- “what is needed for survival.”

Crash

I wonder if I told you that today I am Howard Hughes,
that I am scrubbing and washing and counting
and repeating and repeating and rocking,
would you dry me and stop me and cradle me,
would you tell me that you will be my Catherine
or my Kate?
Would you tell me that I can call you whatever I want
even if today it’s airplane or rocket launcher or Mr. Senator,
Mr. Senator, Mr. Senator?

I wonder if you told me that today you don’t want insanity,
that today you are normal and grounded
and focused and present and healed,
would I stir you and tell you that your skin is softer
when you tremble, that I am quieted when we shake,
that I want you to be off the ground, to fly?

Salt Water

I choose not to get a tissue
when the tear slides around
that apostrophe curve of her nostril.

I maintain my body languange
from before her eyes started leaking
my arms crossed high-
covering cold, vulnerable nipples.

In moments like these I like to touch things-
fold, unfold napkins
crumple cough drop wrappers
strangle my fingertip with the bread tie.

In my head I keep score of spoken low blows
and wish my dining room had a chalk board
like the one in the basement by the pool table.
Many more games are played up here.

I once went to a kid-friendly restaurant,
sat at a black slate table on which toddlers
could scribble while they waited
for grilled cheese sandwiches.
I wish we had one in green.
We could wipe it clean
with the water from her eyes.

Lordy, Lordy, Lordy

A billboard on Highway 44
just a mile from my little homo abode-
"I considered homosexuality- then I found God."
Of all places, the national
"I was sick and thought I was a fag and then found God and am all better now"
rally is coming to my town.
My little dyke friends are forming anti-them rallies
and the little gay friendly-churches are running ads
saying, "we love Jesus AND gay people"

Funny, I feel a bit more islolated in that I was thinking...
more along the lines of our own little fire and brimstone-
my guess is the convention center has some flammable
materials in it somewhere...

Nolie is 7 in 2006

He is gap-toothed and lisping
and I want a time machine.
The digital snapshot/screensaver
is not enough.
The suffocating fear of computer crashes,
technology leap-frogging over my back,
grips me and tells me
the smile will crash
catch a virus
get wormed.
But a box, magic like snow,
may take me in 10 years
to this moment
where he spits Fruit Loops
through a gap and says
Thee what I can do?