Without Asking

You don’t have to ask.
I’ve already forgiven
what you did, many

Years ago, fading
deep misty subconscious fears
of throwing open

The bright burning
connection that should stay closed
or I might just go

Mad with too much heart
too much of everything turned
to scorched, ruined ash.

I like my life now.
So I forgive you, truly.
And leave you behind.

Amidst the Dying

Amidst the dying 
Courage shines, 
A wounded man cradled 
In his savior’s bloodied arms.

Amidst the grieving
Compassion floods,
A mother comforted 
By uniformed, gentle men.

Amidst the turmoil
Hope arises,
A full-throated call
To return us to sanity.

Amidst the despair
Love abounds,
Bright spotlight shining
On our solidarity, worldwide.

Amidst the lies
Truth rings clear,
United we must stand
Against weapons of hate.


Who wears the pants? Who’s allowed
to have freedom to move, to dance
without fear of exposure
without hands groping, snaking up our skirts
you can’t throw us down across a desk
when we wear pants. Or is it just
more subtle, a sign
of equality, of equal ease and comfort
of equal stature, in our own eyes?
The People’s House 
didn’t allow us to wear pants
until she arrived, and brought
what had been 70 years of freedom
to dress ourselves in slacks
crashing the halls while these Millenials
were babes crying in their cribs.

Don’t tell me she’s the cause,
she’s the Establishment, the root
of the evils she’s been fighting 
longer than you’ve been alive. Just

be glad you live now,
not subjugated in skirts.