How many would
love to see me
like this
how many
ex-lovers that
I shorted,
traded in
for one another
I am pained,
it is true
my insides ache
my face is blue
my smile frowns
eyebrows down
not flattering
in the least
I strip
I beg
I claw at
the windows
in my red slip
I try it all
candles
scents
lipsticks
I try so
to summon you
with my mind
I beg
I wonder
where you are
I am red
I am done
I am in for
the kill
I am hunting
and you
are hunted
Tag: womanhood
Nest
If I were a
parcel of land
wide open and shady
blue-skied, forested green
If I were acreage in a place
that you loved,
would you buy me?
Pay any price?
Would you try for cheap?
What kind of deal would
you make?
On a place like me?
Imposter Blond
Imposter blond
So good and pure
You took me and
you had me
you bored me
before long
I let myself get
snowed in
white outside
black inside
my cave
You tasted like
water
Imposter blond
Tasteless
I spit you out and
walked along
Could my gut
be so wrong
Imposter blond?
Powerarmbands
Fantasy, much as I worship it,
pains me
at the end of the day
reality escapes me
Love dances around me
I cast my net far and wide
and to the side
confusing as the world turns,
my heart never stops for directions
When my flaws are on display I
feel short-changed and weak
Outcome my powerarmbands like
Wonder Woman
Do you know Wonder Woman
begged to be dominated?
She did
Little Robby
Some people are firestarters
others rain
others rock
women are animals
that men hunt
men are butterflies that
can’t ever really be caught
I am free and I am burdened
I use the fire to get me hot
I put it out when I get lost
I was never my mother’s
not even in the womb
a psychic on Alder street said
when the seed was planted
I was bloomed
I raged out of her fists up and
how do I shake it?
Angry babies are not funny
they just try to fake it
I was always my father’s child
If at a distance
I was a grown man,
a grown woman
I am fire, ice
all of it
Love in Chains
Am I seeing you
or seeing things?
Was it your truck,
your face in my
waking dream?
Place me
in front of you
don’t waste me
It’s not him
It’s not him
I need to taste you
Cruel
Sun
Cruel
Day
Cruel
Life
She wasted
away when
she intended
to take flight
Why crash course
me, why not time?
Why not now?
Do you have a
problem or your
own vendetta?
Why so hard
Why so hard
Why doesn’t loving
get better?
My love’s not
free anymore
it’s bolted and
chained
My desire used
to fly in the wind
now it lays in the
shade
I’m cross
I’m brash
I’m nasty
It’s not him
It’s not him
I need to taste you
My Friend Soul
I saw my soul
sitting out by the lake
on that old cedar bench
my father gave me
I saw my soul
heaped over like
a bag of leaves
as it wept and
contemplated
I was surprised
to see it there
on such a weathered
winter day and after
the sun had set too
I stood and stared
squinting into the
dark and waiting
for it to move
My soul was
all wrapped up
it was wrapped
around itself
like a tangled
silver chain
link upon link
knot upon knot
year upon year
I could barely
see its eyes
its three eyes
and its head
sticking out there
and its nose
its knowing nose
and its lips
mouthing “hope”
My brain nodded
and carried on
my body yearned
and bucked
and then all three,
brain, body, and soul
surrendered to the
great unknown
I sent out a prayer
for sweet dreams
and joyful awakenings
In the seven a.m.
light the sun shone
upon an empty
cedar bench…
my friend soul had
found some other
place to rest
Nostalgic
Permitting my
mind to wander
like a small child
in a meadow
back before the
tablets and
animated games
when one would
examine the grasses
and discover its
many kinds–
Rattlesnake grass,
Kentucky Bluegrass,
the type with edible
lavender or buttercup
flowers
Nature was as close
to a child as the chest
of a mother and nature
was enough for the
eighties child
Allowing my
mind to wander
like water
around the bend
around the tangible
spaces of this life
reaching and touching,
smelling and lifting
avoiding the flashing
and faux
Love is I Don’t Know
There is justice in love. There is you respect me, I respect you. There are open waves of communication and light, airy energy. Oh I thought it was so many things before but no, no love is none of those things…but love tries to be.
Love is my type. Love is talking about him over and over to my girlfriends but claiming still he is not worthy. Love is when I fall on my face and need him to pick me up. Love is that guy in the corner dusting croissant crumbs from his shirt. But a wedding ring shines on his hand so love is him, but not for me.
Love is us dancing.
Love is us dancing when no one else is dancing. Love is you spinning me and me dipping you. Love is me being made a fool. Love is you with your eyes on me all night.
Love is you having more self-control than I do and me trying to siphon it through your mouth.
Love is us both having adorable cats, yours fuzzy, mine fat, and me day-dreaming of us all living together.
Love is the many many months I’ve put into this relationship, whether I wanted to or not.
Love is us having the same (excellent) taste in music.
Love is me kicking and screaming.
Love is you playing guitar.
Love is me thinking I’m better than you only you realize you are a much better man than I am.
Love is writing so hard about you I run out of paper.
Love is knowing I could write all night long about love.
Which I know nothing about.
Love is death.
Love is birth.
Love escapes.
Love is trapped
just outside my door.
Ignite
We both checked
the stars that night
checked the stars
for signs of life
I wish I may
I wish I might
put an end to
the search tonight
Could it be possible
to know a love unstoppable?
Does it begin with
hello, friend
and if so then
how does it end?
Some are so lucky
others hit just
below the mark
I’m putting it out there
I’m wondering if there’s
something there
I looking at you
I’m thinking yes
yes yes
I gripping my
freedom
white knuckled
I’m having a hard
time letting go
I’m watching
this spark
ember upon
ember in the meadow
I’m waiting
watching hoping
for this fire to go wild
TERAH RACHELLE VAN DUSEN 