Quiet

She sits in circles of women and chants songs about birth,
touching their hair and heaing their stories.
She makes them tea and rinses their mugs,
kisses each with her heart in her lips and bids them goodnight.
She sleeps alone with the rising moon, sorting through the
daydreams
and living embellished lies.
She rubs her belly before she opens her eyes,
indulging in the hungry sun and softness of her thighs.
Her days are filled with words and breath,
but lips do not part and nothing is heard.
She considers guilt for such lucscious solitude
then files it away with the phone messages and bares her breasts to the
window,
revealing a barren field.

Laughing aloud and alone
she considers the queer creation she's chosen.
Indulgence is no stranger
but finds its way these days in flexible paper and flowing pens.
The occasional evening out fills it hours with
raging writing, on paper and hiding from words, aloud.

Is it so obvious that she is me?

No one seems to agree,
as my affection is not forced,
but I've transformed a-lone-ly into sanctuary.
I embrace their eyes and swim in the smiles, but do not want them
to smell my kitchen or kneel at my alter.
My second hand candles seem
sacred and light enough when
I am alone.

So why do I try to see through others eyes when I
hang fabric flags for the four directions,
do I wonder how my food would fall on the palates of
strangers and friends when
I have no intention of sharing.
Maybe my convictions are, as ever, fleeting, but
I will enjoy my bike as chariot,
dreams as visions and
body as beautiful because
today
I am alone.

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I have turned to a private life because
invasion seems inevitable.
some sort of reaching
some clumsy Libran balancing act
to preserve a vulnerable body from complete emmersion.

The sun invades my dreams
each morning from the easterly window
over my bed, and though
I welcome it, can filter it or even
sleep in another room,
I cannot stop it.
My first act of every waking day is
surrender to invasion.
And so I sleep alone and dream of flying to
attain freedom before the capture.

Media penetrates my life and
though my radio is broken and I
own no tv,
the names of foreign diplomats, bloody wars and
rap stars clutter my mind.
And so I spend my days in silence in hopes
there will be space left there
for purpose.

I seem to move further towards desolation every year,
now in a field of dust in the Chihuahuan desert;
and every move it seems there's a gas station
a little closer, a strip mall more convenient, fast
food more tempting.
The longer I reach my fingers towards heaven and
toes towards the earth
the faster we lay concrete and string
power lines. I've heard if Coke gets the rights to a
constellation,
pepsi's got dibs on the moon.
Sometimes
if I keep my heart open while
I let my eyes see and mind run free,
I cry so hard I don't care anymore;
and then move
a few more miles
towards the middle of nowhere.

I enjoy the company of others more than most of the next guys;
but only when its short
and real and raw. So quickly I witness
the layers of masks and throwing of stones,
lies woven games played and weary wearthered eyes.
So many sad eye every way I turn.
Maybe I've chosen the desert where
I squint into the sun and then open the lids
smiling and revived.
I have no choice but to look into the eyes of every One I see,
and want not to learn how to block them from entering me,
but find myself going out less and less.
So many sad eyes.

As for my body
it has been invaded so many times
by eyes thoughts fingers and fists,
no number of lifetimes in solitary existance could
achieve me balance.
This invasion does not sadden, anger, worry or annoy.
This invasion consumes.
Spilled blood, ravished womb, thoughts fraught with fear and a
heart broken.

I, woman, am a conquered land.
but I will not learn your language
you've claimed the rights to my body and
I have seen so much death I
surrender; you may mine my mountain, dam my rivers, and
burn down every tree
but you cannot stop the sun.
I will never honor your gods, accept your bribes, believe your
lies.
My body is yours but my soul
is with the divine.

and so I live a quiet life, but in my silence I am alive.