POEMS


Hospital Corners

Where is Aunt B and her warm apple pie?
Her plump roundness and jovial demeanor
Is the safest of harbors,
comforting and honest

Francis left a long time ago,
not because she’s mean…
she just cannot be…
I don’t think she was really there,
only an image of her apron and black old lady shoes,
those I hold dear

Separated from mother at birth,
I never had a chance
No nurturing, no nipple, no milk…
or warmth,
nothing but lonely disconnect

I grew up knowing self reliance and mistrust…
especially difficult when mother was in plain view….
but only through thick, impenetrable glass

Isolation,
               hibernation,
                                  soul gestation…
                                                            inward I turn…
                                                                                     innocence to anger

My eye wary of all species female,
inner instincts now altered by earthly circumstances,
                                                                                                                     my spirit  
                                                                                                       plagued
                                                                    my emotional duality

Born with a big heart,
but now like an onion,
covered in so many layers
layers of callousness,
layers of cynicism,
and layers of mistrust,
                                                                                               compassion now muted  
                                                     by layers of spiritual pathology
Only in deepest of sleep, in the darkest cave,
                                                                                                 can the truth be found