Life is Hard, A Play

Actor enters, stands center stage. One spot light opens around them. Actor looks over the small crowd nodding with deliberate eye contact to a few of the audience members.

There is a small breath and sigh actor says: “Tonight I will be performing a small monologue titled “Life is Hard.”

Lights seem to dim and stay the same all at once.

Actor bows head, blinks eyes, silent internal curtain and Namaste all at once.

Actor: Raises hand into the air as if to wax poetic, alone, for the next two hours.

Life, is hard.

Actor bows head, blinks eyes, silent internal curtain and Namaste all at once.

Turns around and runs like hell.

Another’s Happiness

Fly away little butterfly

Be another's happiness

For you were only a poison

Cocoon while inside me

Ce Soir

Ce Soir

Ce soir j’ecris

Le matin je lis

Avec vous

J’aime notre mots

Burnt

“Mother,” is not

This strong match

Of small sparks

Commanding warmth

But cold eyes unseen

In darker rooms

Close the door

To my room, light

A candle,

Not for light,

But to scribble left

Over the ledger.

“Write me poetry;

Pretty, for all to read”

“It’s too bad, you

Were born here-

A smear of ash

That never belongs-”

Illiteracy turns

To propaganda.

And so lucky to

Be Her daughter,

Someday I’ll

Understand

I only get one

Mother, remind me

Who’s a little

Burnt, a gift

From “Mother”

She told them all

I heard them

Say I died

In the fire:

And walked away

Burnt 

Fly and Good Bye

I always remembered to straighten my daughters’ wings before she walked into the classroom.

Mother:

Are you ready for school?

Daughter:

Almost.

Mother:

Almost? Turn around.

Daughter:

I think they are crooked.

Mother:

My daughter, I will straighten your wings every day before school.

Daughter:

Thank-you mother, for always being there, and making sure I am ready to fly.

Mother:

At a moments notice, and I will kiss your cheek, and say ‘I love you.’

Daughter:

I love you to too mother.

Mother:

Daughter, have a good day, goodbye.

Daughter:

I hope I see you tonight.

Mother:

If not, I hope they pray.

Daughter:

For what they have done to you.

Mother:

To you…

Daughter:

I will not remember, anything, but you will know it forever…

Mother:

Except to fly, remember to…

Daughter:

Good-Bye

Enchanting Echo

An empty echo

Silently moans along

Miles of stones

Rubbing sins against

The tenderness of flesh

Of course, God

Was conceived when

A bed cloth was pulled

Roughly from the line

Wrapping, a promise

Of warmth to gift

Grey, naked arms

Like tree branches

Raw and twisted

Roots are exposed-

Until inside me,

The release of fog

Mutes the scream

Of nothing, the cloth

Already torn

Of course, a

Goddess is born

With hands cleaned

Of all undoing

Wrong doing

Hardness fades

Naked silenced by

The cobbling of

Bodies against the stone

Gasping,

Love was not

A man’s freedom,

Pleasure was not

On baron land

But the shore

His ocean water

Washing the child

From within, small

Cold waves, warmer

Than any touch

A bedsheet little

Protection from

The wind screaming

Alone, and the answering

Of enchanting echoes

It’s not your fault

It’s never your fault

But children grow

To adults who soon

Have no one to blame

The enchanting echo

Of a child’s skin

Becomes a lovers

Confusion, Silence

Is the distance between us

Kittens with Milk

Perhaps as a

Little lady

I found compassion

With the kittens

On the farm, like

The baby Jesus

Warmed in the manger

And blankets of straw

Perhaps I found

Riches of beaded

Cows milk on

Kittens’ whiskers

Unpasteurized like

My Grandmother and

I am her age, now

With softer skin

Her dried hands

Fed the kittens

With warm milk from

Margarine containers-

Containers collected

In the memory of

Depression.

Waste not want not.

I had the depression!

And no one understood.

So, I sat on a bales of straw

Counting kittens.

I left the farm

To a place of

“Higher learning,”

To play Shakespeare-

Depression sealed

In a cold lunch container.

Labeled “I can’t believe

It’s not butter.”

Later, I took kittens

To my grandmother,

Beneath my over coat:

A photo in my pocket.

“You like cats

Like I do.” She said,

Instead of “what no

Great grand children?”

Perhaps, as her ashes

Were tossed into the sky

Caught by the hand

Of adult Jesus

I found nourishment,

In the emptiness of

Her hand held to me,

As she fed kittens with milk.

Mr. Daisy

He loves me?

He loves me…

Not.

Young children

Pull petals from

Daisies.

Squealing in

The garden of

Passion…

As petals

Scatter like

Feathers

From flights

Fallen and forgotten.

Exhausted,

Grounded by

Journeys own

Deception.

Not if he

Loves me, he

Loves me, not:

But do you feel

Nothing for me…

Mr. Daisy?

So, naked, so

Much certain

Uncertainty-

That love is

Also, I love

Him not!

Nimble Child

My baby blue ship,

Hoists tissue paper sails,

Navigates distant shores;

Across seas unfathomable.

Reliant on the murmurs,

Of untrustworthy mermaids,

And screams from night animals;

Splashing under this sailing ship.

I dock on the furthest pier,

That smells most of,

The blood of fighting men;

And the sweat of winning coin.

I step from the bow,

Avoiding their change,

Use mine for blue ribbons;

Pink hair clips.

One sailor removes,

His paper hat,

I read his mind;

Special report!

Fold the reality,

Under my arm,

Let your hair down;

No refund, nimble child.

In The Garden

I loved that garden.

I loved that gardener more.

I loved more than just the gardener in that garden.

It was conceptual service.

                  Exceptional?

                              In the garden?

                                                     Both.

The irony of finding someone to love in the garden.

                You don’t iron.

                                         I know.

Canapés Under the Canopy

Today, I feel. So, I could be human:

Smoked salmon, avocado and seasoned crackers.

Wine glass in my hand. I drink the seven seas:

Salt spray, waves and sandy toes.

Seashells in pasta salad at picnics:

I am your woman.

Buffalo

… Because that is not how I roam…

Across open fields

In large families

Navigating hot prairie summers

Surviving cold winters by the mountains

… That’s how the buffalo roam…

I wake to wonder if they’ll remember

What nightmare they recall

As they run toward the cliff and fall

From the drawing on the my bedroom wall

… Because that is how the buffalo died this summer…

And I sat alone and watched.

My Mind

A crowded emergency room experience in a Nova Scotian hospital pre-2020

This nurse took my spectacles:

Put in an I.V.

That nurse took my blouse and jeans.

Put me in a Johnny shirt.

Said this will give me more time.

Said nothing about an answer.

Another nurse took my blood.

The answer is not in my blood.

See?

My mind is Ok.

People pass as shadows and murmurs.

I want to see their beauty,

But it’s hidden in their words

Like a child’s balloon

At the end of a celebration.

See?

You let me go.

I hear: “She should be dead.”

I hear: “And have the right to choose.”

I hear: “waste of food, wasted food.”

You see, baby, my mind is Ok.

My mind holds the memories:

I toss a balloon to my grandchild,

We are young and able.

Ok.

I hear a nurse: “her eyes are sunk so deep.”

My eyes? Where are all the mirrors?

I hear my daughter: “She needs her own room.”

Don't worry.

My mind is in the waiting room.

The balloon rises.

Tears fall from my eyes.

You see?

My mind is Ok.

I remember the day I couldn't get out of bed on my own.

I stopped worrying about being pretty enough.

I hear my daughter, a baby in her arms: “my mom needs her own room.”

I hear: my daughter weep.

I hear: the arrival of food.

I hear: “waste.”

And my daughter weep.

See, my daughter

Is not ok with this.

“Bring me apple juice, I like apple juice.”

I want,

I still want…

My mind.

Rest assured,

She doesn’t know what’s happening.

Oh, she was with us for a moment.

How was she yesterday?

I hear my daughter: She needs her own room.

I say: “Don't worry.”

I do though.

I wait: you are giving me more time.

In a crowded emergency room.

My heart beating as blood through my ears.

You know? My mind is ok.

My Execution

And on the day of my execution

I will wear a white pants suit

And you can witness every

Drop of blood, stain

Every bit of independence

Your sovereign

Stole from mine.

Water’s Edge

He said, "hold me while the stars fall around us."

He said, "Listen to dreams dance on the water.

Spin us round, take us down to the water’s edge-

Let’s kiss tonight and fade in the moonlight."

I said, "You’re merely the sound of waves on the riverbed."

He said, "I’m only the moon calling your name.”

I let him take me down, to the water’s edge,

And let the moonlight hold this dance.

I said, "it's only a dream, these stars in my hair,”

"It was a wonderful dream," he said. As I held tight.

I whispered to the stars, “I am not giving up the dream,”

And pulling myself from the water’s edge said, “but starting to live.”

Nest Of a Bird

Inside my chest

Is a nest

Untended

Un-mended

Sticks and feathers

Shifted by weathers

Old lives birth

New toxins

I place my head

On baby’s bed

Untended

Un-mended

Gifts traced like

Fingers on a map

Poison sipped with

“cheers” signed

In mother’s milk

Take my mother’s name

Because, like her

It will hurt me

Untended

Un-mended

Has been a choice

To build my nest

And leave as empty

As sticks and stones

Untended

Un-mended

Solace and Silence

What if the pills

Seem to intoxicate

The knife?

What if I say yes

Restless

For your offer?

The coils on the burner

Enter this body

Like a snake

My words twist

A burnt tattoo

Inside

I am praised

For my pain

Talent

I offer peace

In solace and

Silence

A misunderstanding

That mine means

Anything more…

Than a candlelight vigil

A Friendship

Of semi colons

We fight with

Phenomenology

Against reality

I can’t die for a

Whisper or

Tap out

My suicide, is written

On the publishers

Bank note

Your solace is

Silence, chiseled

And grave.

Miss You

I miss you, moon

Even though the sun

Never rises-

Never sets-

I miss you, even though

I see you hide in trees,

By closing your eyes

On bright city nights,

I miss you, moon

Your reflection out to sea,

Waving like the wake,

Of death walking away.

I miss you, moon

Hardly even knew you,

And we will be love

Even when I die 

Tender Little

Tender little

Tender child

Take every moment

Learn every color

Tender little

Tender bird

Sing a song

One feather at a time

Plastic pails

In sand boxes

Every distant wave

Counted and returned

Tender little

Tender eyes

Soar across the sea

Achieve dreams, there

Every color

Grain of sand

Every storm

Heaves it all

Tender little

Tender grown up

Expectation tears up

In a hurricanes eye

Distress the Lace

You hope

I don’t feel

Your callousness.

As lace is drawn

Softly, across

My face.

Anticipation-

A river, crisp

And clean,

Rushed through

Stained fingers;

Intimacy heightens-

Distress.

You hope;

I do.