when hearts are many-faced

My heart has many faces, and all of them are turned toward many yous.

I miss our impromptu singing.

 I miss looking at you and the telepathic connection unfolding.

I miss knowing your heart and reading your face.

 I miss dancing.

 I miss long travel days.

I miss setting food aside for you when you’re too busy to eat.

I miss getting texts from you when we’re sitting across from each other in boring meetings.

 I miss pinning on your nametag and fixing your hair.

I miss apples and peanut butter and bran muffins and chocolate chip cookie dough.

I miss  sitting under blankets and hammocks and the way you smell early in the morning.

I miss stairwells and bad food days and the weird smell of Wendell’s office

.I miss the broken oven and the uncomfortable futons and people being everywhere.

I miss laughing till we make the sun rise at night.

I miss your laugh and your voice and your smile and the way your eyes become soft as cotton candy right before your heart leaps from your lips.

 I miss times when you told me your secrets and we cried.

 I miss you.If you were a person, you’d be a many-faced person.

If you were a heart, you’d be a many-faced heart. And I think we are more or less a person, because I think we are more or less a lonely bride. And I think we are more or less a heart, because I feel us beating each other sometimes.

 I miss lots of things today. And it’s good to miss and it’s good to remember and it’s good to care that the pieces of my heart - the pieces of his heart - will someday be gathered, and we’ll have one face. Then there will be no more missing at all, because we will be one.

Walk My Love

Siuil, siuil, siuil a run

Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin

Siuil go doras agus ealaigh lion

Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan

Walk, my love

Run, my love

I have found your heart, my love

Hold now -

Among the reeds the tusks of pigs

I'm picking up pearls thrown

[At me I'm the dirty girl

Cleaning laundry hang me up to dry]

Selling my bejeweld soul

Selling my windswept mind

Selling myself to dirty tricks

dirty work dirty men and egrets

Walk, my love

Run, my love

I have found your heart, my love

Hold now -

In the muck where algae

Is crawling up my arms

My skirt eaten by frogs swallowed

I Am Bare

My skin crawls and would you stop looking at me

[They're all dirty boys and girls

That's why they laugh at my nakedness

I'm burning put out the fire boys]

They cry laugh turn their backs

My hands grasp a sword of bronze

Walk, my love

Run, my love

I have found your heart, my love

Hold now -

Cutting away my skin

I bleed

My skin falls off

I cut further

My muscle falls away

I cut further

My bones clatter down

I cut further

Just my heart now, my love

It still beats. I am still alive.

The battle is against me

And against the frogs

[I'm a dirty heart

But I am a little fighter

I promised my children I'd never]

Walk, my love

Run, my love

I have found your heart, my love

Hold now -

Can't you see I've done this killing

For love?

Dead frogs and boneless hearts

For love

Oh failure

Sweet transparency

What was I supposed to do?

Love all over our bodies

I think I've always loved you.

Wherever I'm with you.

Walk, my love

Run, my love

I have found your heart, my love

Hold now.

White Bird

White Bird

Once upon a time, there was a little bird. All of white, she dressed herself in the morning and the songs of half-forgotten cemeteries, all crying out. She was a very young little bird, her downy feathers not quite finding flight. That didn’t stop her from believing that the sky could not contain her joy.

“I only know that when you play with Thelma, you always get the worst of it. That is why I say, be careful.” said Mother.

The little white bird flew along the lines of the trees. She crossed them like barbed wire and landed among the wild yellow lilies. Each one grasped at her with their feline paws and, among them, she knew she had a home. But the joy of the sky was still uncontainable, and something inside of her cried out that there had to be more than this. The lilies wiped their mouths with their sleeves and turned to devour another bite of her tail.

And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.
And from all across the world, Max smelled good things to eat, and so he gave up being king of where the wild things are. But the wild things cried, “Oh, please don’t go! We’ll eat you up! We love you so!”
But Max said, “No.” And he climbed aboard his private boat…

White birds
are
harder to
chew
than
wolves are

You are not a hen. You are not a kitten. You are not a cow. You are not a car, or a plane, or a Snort. You are a bird, and you are my mother.

The white bird couldn’t escape the gnawing grip of the tiger lilies. Her wings, now clipped by their maws, were tainted red by their bloodstained teeth. Her tail was caught among the green leaves. No one could see her any longer. But reality set in and the traps were broken. The sunrise gobbled up the night and she didn’t want to leave the warm embrace of the bloodied flowers…

Once upon a time, there was a princess –
“Was the princess you?
- and she fell in love –
“Was it hard to do?”
- it was very easy!
“Was he strong and handsome?
“Was he big and tall?”
There’s no one like him, anywhere at all…

iloveyou
crytheweeds
iloveyou
crythebluebonnets
iloveyou
criesthesun
iloveyou
crythetigerlilies

“I know who you are,” the man said, “for I made you. I built the tower and set it in motion. I planted the meadow, put fish in the ocean. I’ve seen you fall down in the mud and the goo. I’ve seen all you’ve done and all you will do. Here’s what you look like. Here’s how I see you. Put this in your pack and you’ll find it will free you from all of the pictures and all of the lies that others make up just to cut down your size.”

Suffocated by the words of the flowers and the desire of the skies, the white bird died…

And Max sailed back through a day, and in and out of weeks, and almost over a year to his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him

And it was still hot.

Wings fly on.
Beating in her chest.
Maybe it’s her muscles straining to fly.
Maybe her heartbeat.
Only wild things love me,
She sings.
Until the sun
Eats her up
In his enthusiasm to see her
And the joy of the sky
Embraces a
White hand.

{Featuring selections from
A Bargain for Frances, by Russel Hoban
Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak
Are You My Mother?, by P.D. Eastman
The Disney classic, Snow White
A Snoodle’s Tale, by Phil Vischer
Original piece, “White Bird” by Catey Yuen}

Two Poems on One Day (Two/ little bits and pieces)

Two

Two planes passed each other in the night

Two silent blinking heartbeats

Two longing believingly hopeful lights

A pilot stops to find a star to eat

Two planes and no delight

Two fireflies passed each other, full of fright

They blink, they cover their mouths

The moon's fear is far too bright

They fall to the ground, careful not to arouse

Two fireflies would never find a might

Two yellow-spiced winds passed each other on the right

Briefly they intoxicate their own poisons

They vomit up their hearing and sight

They turn their blind eyes from wish and reason

Two yellow-spiced winds are always a fight

Two white birds passed each other in flight

Both too tired to want or demand

Their heartbeats and wings fill with breathful white

For just a moment, they hold hands

And two white birds are all quite

little bits and pieces

little bits and pieces

All of life was a map with a key

and it was torn up into

little bits and pieces

I objectify and fragment

I lust and I lose

My vision is a stained glass crackled mirror

Dropped by demons into my eyes

Who are you?

I see only long slender fingers

I hear only the squalling of your singing

I'm distressed by my love

of little bits and pieces

Whole
Half

None

I'll be the white capped head of hair

I'll blend into the green eyeliner

No one will find me

And no one will care

And we'll call the silence freedom

And we'll be free

little bits and pieces

of glass and seashells only cut my hands

but if I were invisible, I wouldn't have to worry

about the little bits and pieces

who like to follow me

I'm a mother duck, you see

And the whole of the earth is my duckling

I spit my bill on the ground

Because I'm disgusted

I peck my bony feet till they're

little bits and pieces

My eyelashes all fell out

And I lost my fingers

In the white lake

Beauty is lust

And vision is fr agmented

All is

little bits and pieces

drowning me

Have you seen the little rainstorm?

I put it in a jar

Swirlingly, it whispers

It is full of seaweed, the raw winds of oceanic

Mindsets (when minds are full of pufferfishwhich eat their neighbors

and refuse to see the waves above their heads asanything but

symmetry and empty seashells)

Oh how the pickled skybirds do make me swing

My hands in deathly frustration

Why is the sky so big?

Why am I a jellyfish?

Did you not promise me I would be an angelic

Jellyfish are purposeless and hideous

I am consumed by the pufferfish struggles

I am distraught by the fact

Of the ocean drowning me

drowning me

drowning me

I. am. so. confused. by. grace.

drowning me

drowning me

Lift up your heads, O ye

drowning me

drowning me

Who shall ascend the hill

drowning me

drowning me

Who is the king of glory

drowning me

drowning me

Waves sound like

drowning me

grace

Rainbow Hair

I have pink hair

I have laughed and laughed

Life is so full of rain

My yellowed eyes are all full of

Rain and there is nothing

But rain and go away

Because no one wants you

Or your beesting whistle pipe smiling

If you touch the balloons you will

My hands are crackled and we see

Rainbows [in my hair]

Just some thoughts from stormy, hurricane-swept Pennsylvania as we had our devotional this morning. I don't think I've ever written a poem that combines concepts from My Little Pony and The Prodigal God. (Whoa! I actually gave some of the inspiration for my poem for you to know! So weird! I guess this makes it less ambiguous. -C.)

Monologue

Hello. Does that seem stiff and formal? It kind of feels that way. Okay. Hi, it's me. I just dropped by because, well, I'm not sure. I miss you a lot. That's for sure. A whole lot. It seems like it's been years since we stayed up till three to talk about the sunset. Was that really just last week? Wow. So much has happened since then. The world has ended since then. Or, my world has.

How many years has it been since we first met? Five? Six? I don't even remember. It seems like forever. You were so young, with your nerdy little bowl cut and your cute little smile. I was probably just as young. Is that me? In that picture beside the bed? Wow. Look at me. I'm not who I was.

Remember that time when we made the blanket fort in your basement with all of the fitted sheets? We slew the dragon, plugged in the stereo, and rocked out to Mozart for three hours during the thunderstorm. Your eyes glowed like you were a nocturnal creature and your Figaro aria was spot-on. Quite the singer, you still are.

How about that time when you and I went out dancing in the rain? I felt like a princess, twirling around in my satin dress, rain making my eyelashes stand out more than any makeup. You doubted the sense of dancing in the rain at first, but with you bow tie strapped around your neck, you made a dapper Gene Kelly, singin' in the rain. I don't think either of us knew what we were doing. I know I didn't. And you looked so uncomfortable. But you were a trooper. We spun in circles and pretzels, and then you dropped me. It didn't hurt, and I'm pretty sure you did it on purpose, just to show off how you would always be there to keep me safe.

My favorite memories are still the ones from those late nights, right before... well, you know. It felt like the morning would never get here, and that God had stopped the moon right as we knew we would never be able to go to sleep. I talked about the past a lot. Rome. China. Transcendentalism. Purity. The way things used to be. You renewed my mind. We talked about the future. The way things will be, if all turns out. College. Work. Church. Missions. You. Me. And both of us. And God, of course. Lots about God.

But now, your words are silent, and your beautiful velvet eyes are shut. The future is past. All of our plans, the times that you were going to take me dancing, the times I was going to help you clean your room, the times we were going to stay up all night praying in the church cafe... all of those are gone. I watch them dissolve into the IV plugged into your arm. Your raspy breathing is almost like singing, melodic, like those blues songs we sang to your guitar in the lazy practices.

Oh, my sweet friend! I miss you!

Give me your hands. They've gone cold.

Don't leave me.

All those plans we had, all those things we never got to talk about, all those things I still wanted to tell you...

The future is now.

Wake up.

I love you.