The trees are trying to

Carefully

Take off winters sweater 

I know because of the Robins

They told me from the branches 

She is small

It is the best way to put it

Her thigh is the size of my arm

I know children that tall 

In her eyes are stories of 

Four marriages 

Withheld grandchildren 

Hurt

The eyes are a rage of the ocean 

Pastel like a cockatoo 

just as noisy 

She is cold from blood thinners 

always dressed like she is going to the club

Claims her 50 year old boyfriend has no idea she is 70

|| he must see it in her skin 

The words I used to say no to you 

Not believing in the oil and brush more

The time unspent with those of my blood 

Not buying flowers at the market on Monday

And hurrying her as she spoke 

|| the things I regret 

The things that grow |  

The white of hair stiff like a birch tree 

Daisies & road grass 

The Weed between the bark

The need for sun

Queen Ann's lace

Desire for more more more 

The age of my mothers hands 

&  my love for you.

To take the little seeds

The good of you

I want to turn them into trees 

|| until we are a forest 

rehab
is that what they call it
where they take you off everything that once made you calm
to give you your mind back

what if your mind is infected to?
what then?

the thoughts like Tetris

Collide into one another and break

Before they even have a chance to 

become tall like trees
with roots

His hands dry like concrete 

Splitting on the knuckle

I'm angry with mental illness

And how it has breathed it's bad breath all over my family

Is it a curse 

If you are made with it

Or a gift 

That we have not learned how to applaud or work with

   --mental illness

I'm pregnant with insecurity 

Everyday I give birth to this child and blame him 

You are there with your thumbs up

With every word I need 

But I look for You in him

I forget you are even present 

his small words 

Disappoint 

Because deep in me

I want YOU YOU YOU

Only YOU

Please

Do not get lost in all of the

Lights

I see it drain from you

Life 

The Fists pound for more

you are their drug and you think
this is a good 

forearms are tight like a guitar string
swollen with tiny words that will be forever
but are not eternal

You have my blood 

And
sometimes
I think of it at night

|| The lights that make all of your life

Dark

I want to be a ladle
full

Color, spring, applause