sand writes

Empathy

Last year we bought a live Christmas tree.

Alas, my black thumb proved it not an evergreen.  

Undoing

This time the fear isn’t of becoming undone.

The thought is new, and so I assume it to be oxytocin-derived.

Permanence, the unZen, can hit

in places where Control+Z (Command on a Mac)

isn’t registered as an available shortcut.

Yes. I fear the unlikely. Falling

through the grates on a city sidewalk. Asteroids.

My infant plagued with all my worst genetic legacy.

An instant, it’s all it takes. A scratch. A fall.

Unmending. Unending. Disaster.

A (this) mother has irrational fears.

What me?

Aptly named, this website, loredana dot me.

Dutifully measuring the “me” across time,

reports sparsity.

I (at least) need a haircut.

Performance Anxiety

I don’t have much to show for

(ever since I’ve started showing).

It’s as if building you took

not just amino-acid chains

but poetry as well.

As an excuse I mentioned

the matter of audience change.

You, my superlative,

intimate from the inside,

know too much.

Allow me my old habit of anxiety

in realizing the risk - no, the reality

of your future (accurate) interpretation.

But motherhood takes courage

and so I write again.

autumn before spring

well now.

for several weeks, i’ve entertained the observation

(a humor-charged melancholy)

that different muses this year

seem to strip my favorite tree of its crown.

i love it better when it’s dying.

but i digress. the point here

is autumn itself.

a budding fist inside my skin bodes spring.

and i, like the tree, have to hurry up and let go.

There was a young man who said damn
For it certainly seems that I am
A creature that moves in determinate grooves
I’m not even a bus I’m a tram.

awake

there are illusions at times

as comfortable on skin

as whispers of 75 degree farhenheit.

(so you forget.)

diseased, the brain projects bliss on a mute hemisphere.

that which you seek does not exist.

stretched absence

Letting go of my face in the mirror,

reflexion echoes concern in place of a smile.

I won’t see her again.

(Great come-back, I know.

These three lines required

43 days of continual ponder)