Being Born

I don't remember being born,
my mother's face, or my father,
barely old enough to shave.
I don't remember being lifted
into sterile space -
my toes without nails,
my tenderest openings undone.

None of us is truly finished.
The cut umbilical cord
slowly regrows itself
like a lizard's tail,
and what lizard's tale has ever
had a happy ending?
None of us

remembers being born,
the child faces of our mothers,
or our fathers, barely old enough
to shave.

linked to Open Link Night at dVerse

Rushing

There is rain on your breath when you lie
in the shine of my silver tresses -
bankrupt bones, but beautiful

and rushing

into my muscled arms and silence.
I am your house of ill repute
on the banks of your river, bankrupt,

but rushing.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Capsules

I'm afraid of these capsules
clattering in my gut.
I'm afraid they won't work.
I'm afraid they will, but

will dissolve me

from the inside out
loosen my limbs
and loosen my mouth

to a trumpet vine sounding
nothing but Taps

choral,
clipped,
and flat.

The Strangest Rain

It was the strangest rain
that star fall night

mare galloping.  Hooves
churning and hurling

hunks of the black
eye sky.

Blind, it left me, blind;
my tongue forked with wishes.

Goddess bound and blind -
bridled to ride.

For Midweek Motif~Meteor Showers at Poets United

Dumbo

An elephant is Dumbo.
A tiger is a Tigger.
A clownfish is a Nemo,
until a child grows bigger

and is sent off to a teacher
who schools the proper names.
Elephus maximus is correct,
but it doesn't feel the same!

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads