To My Sister

I try so hard to protect you but you need to know the truth.
I am sorry for that day at the beach when I laughed after that stranger put his hand on my leg.
You asked me why he did that and I said he probably didn’t mean anything by it,
but instead I should have told you what I know:
that you were right to think it was uncomfortable because it was uncomfortable
and you should never question how you feel.

I wish I could make the feeling you felt that day disappear.
The truth though is that your stomach will churn like that so many times that it will start to feel routine.
You might wonder if it’s just you or if you are somehow the cause but trust me you are not,
and it will never feel better only worse:
from a boy staring at you in gym class to a man squeezing your butt on the metro home
so you get off at the next stop and walk.

I feel like I should save you from discovering these dark things.
However I am a strong believer in knowledge as power so although you’ll suffer you should know.
By recognizing these wrongs you can give voice to pain and call for society to change,
but it will definitely not be easy:
mostly women will come to the meetings and the discussions will be mostly male panels
just remember “mostly” used to be “all”.

-L

did you know

woman,

did you know you are much more than
the brittle bones beneath your skin?
than the sun’s illuminated freckles
splashed across the bridge of your nose?

and that each time you cry out,
the stars remain
burning through
the night sky,
if only for you to
stand at peace with
yourself?
*
digging
through the dirt

stuck in my nails
thick on my skin,
my scalp
*
the truth sought after
the colors of
a spring wind storm in the desert
the smell of bread dough rising

dust, flour
dirt
grit between my fingers
inhaling

and i’m digging
and i’m digging
*
the process toward peace is,
they say,
a lengthy one

i’ll sit patiently
listen to her tell me her woes
tell her i love her
speak of her knowledge and
inner beauty

when i look in the mirror,
though
i tell her
to shut up
and get on with it
*
woman,
did you know
you are so much more than

-A

Soulmates

I met my soulmate unexpectedly
of course but I think it was fate, not chance.
People say there is someone for us all
but I never really believed in that
until I saw my own reflection in
someone else’s soul. Soulmate does not mean
romantic you know – my soulmate is the
sister I never knew I had. It was
fate that I found someone across the world
who understands why I am who I am.
Trust me it is a relief for someone
to know you well inside and out, so go
seek soulmates not just in lovers but friends.

-L

Sketch: This is a rose bush waiting to bloom.

My hands
remember the weight of charcoal
and what it takes to keep
the image from smearing.
I sketch a rose bush in early spring
when it wants to be blooming
but can’t, yet.

My eyes
capture details like they are new
as if I have just seen
bare limbs for the first time.
With each stroke they become more alive
til I understand they are
just waiting.

I finish sketching
as the day grows cold,
and as I pack up my things
I know:
roses
do not blossom into being overnight
but rather
survive the winter
to triumph in the spring,
and this knowledge that
the beauty
is in the details
calms me.

IMG_6554

-L

dust

11800514_1058492120828852_6566802562356328941_n
nevermind the dust
blowing in every direction

if you can take a breath
even if only for one moment,
you are alive
*
i graduated from eighth grade
my first kiss, a dare i chose
in a gazebo
on an early summer night

quickly, i touched my lips to his
in the middle of a circle of
eyes watching
*
the next morning
on the flight to Denver
my walkman in my lap
forehead pressed to the window

all i remember from the night before
is the rhythm of my knees shaking
in anticipation

curious
*
the snow-capped mountains
are grand in their majesty,
i learned to say

always in the distance
and my mother can’t stop sighing
in the face of their majesty

but their jagged, rocky edges
viewed from the highway
bring me no peace of mind
*
we drive south,
my mom, my sister, and i

there, the wind is sandy and strong
it pelts every inch of our skin
stinging
*
that night, the man in the campsite next to ours
has a tiny pup-tent set up,
but he decides to sleep under the stars

a salsa song travels through the
calm night wind
from a lonely bar down the road

i lay awake for hours, eyes open wide
my sister and mother sleeping soundly
on either side of me

i realize
for the first time
how much space I need
*
i awoke in that strange valley
and many years later, I call it home

space, here, is endless
in the cloudless blue sky
in the untouched fields of kochia
in the spring winds that coat my skin
with sand

but nevermind the dust
blowing in every direction

if you can take a breath
even if only for one moment,
you are alive

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-A

from the side of beartooth highway

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look for me
i am the girl who is driving a white ’96 oldesmobile across the country
with the unwashed hair, tied back in a red bandana
i carry rope, to teach myself knots
a pocket knife, because it makes me feel able

look for me in the woods, humming a John Denver tune
or under a tree somewhere, just pulled off the road
my face buried deep in this journal,
my mind pumping out words that my left hand anxiously tries to keep up with

look for me, somewhere between innocence and adulthood
the worry lines still faint across my forehead

look for me, as i stake out my independence at a furious pace
as i stumble through what it means to be alone
as i am silent, or listening, or rolling my eyes

the dirt under my nails comes from digging

look for me
as i try
to uncover
my truth

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-A

springtime in the desert

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the desert in utah
fills with wildflowers in may

prickly pears
asters
yucca
all blooming in
cadences of color
dancing in the
spring wind
*
i wake to the sound of
birds in green mulberry trees, singing
in delight to
see the sun
again
*
there are layers of life
so apparent in
sandstone mountains
salty, smooth but jagged
crumbling

inside, i stand atop the misty canyon
at peace with
all the questions and scars
all the layers of my self

because valleys fill
and empty
over and over

grow wildflowers from
salty, sandy dust

sing songs in gratitude
to see the seasons
change as they do

it seems that
beauty can thrive in the most
unlikely of places

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-A