Rooted

when autumn arrives

and leaves begin 

to fall i 

remember that i 

am the tree

not the golden 

leaf spinning gloriously 

to the ground

The dance

There is no hard line 

between sunset and night, 

the oranges and pinks 

give way to the inky 

blues and purples 

in a dance, a caress,

they embrace each other always

but we cannot 

see it from where we’re standing 

cannot see that 

we’re the ones spinning ever 

away and toward 

the light, that we are 

the dancer

dizzy with power and regret 

—

Poetry prompt: Transitions 

Exalted

You worship me as
your goddess
pray that I’ll save you 

kneel at my altar
until I 

fall from grace when your

prayers are not answered

my whole heart can't mend 

your broken one

cannot love away 

your loneliness 

only gaze

at your loveliness

as you used to see mine

What’s the matter?

We believe we are separate

from the Earth 

from each other

can’t see all the emptiness 

that connects us 

—

April PAD day 27: believe or don’t believe 

Questions

I have so many questions 

so much hurt to understand

but the only one that matters

is how do you open your heart?

— 

April PAD day 24: question

Assent

How lucky am I 

to be born 

with such beauty 

that you cannot 

look away

keep your hands off

keep your cat calls

in your mouth

must thrust your desire 

into the world

into me 

to hold for you

without my consent 

—

April PAD day 13 prompt: lucky or unlucky

Thoughtless

There is no thinking with

your heart, it 

only knows how to feel 

to beat, to 

keep driving love/life forward 

—

April PAD day 25: thought 

Love your neighbor

Love your neighbor

your good book says, but 

you believe your 

Middle Eastern messiah 

was miraculously white, feel affinity 

only toward those 

who look like 

you, not the ones he 

would have loved 

You pick and 

choose which teachings are relevant 

and none have 

anything to do with love 

—

April PAD day 20: love or anti-love 

Counting sheep

They corral us together

feed us the same

straw theories

knowing there’s 

no substance 

nothing to stomach

but plenty to chew on

as they try 

to convince us

that the wolves

are our caretakers

they think we’re asleep

and because they can’t 

tell us apart 

think we don’t see 

when one of us is slaughtered

Waiting to breathe

She doesn’t pass 

wouldn’t want to

always seems to be 

holding her breath 

dark skin a beacon 

beaming Blackness without apology 

a light to 

her sisters and 

lure to lynch mobs

that could be 

around any corner 

constantly calculating the risks 

of her brilliance

in this world

and who it might attract 

—

April PAD Day 17 prompt: waiting