inhaling and exhaling

ah, a quiet class room day. time to think. space to breathe. breathe, breathe.
i love the word breathe.
it looks how it sounds (eeeeeeattttthhhheeeeee),
sounds how it looks. saying it is the action itself.
and breath as well, because it is curtailed
by itself: just one burst of air.
but i like breathe better because it is the kind of inhalation and exhalation i want to do.
a breath deep enough to last over all those consonants and all those vowels.
a breath that makes your whole self rise as you are filled,
then you deflate, fall, relax as you release it
and your muscles unclench
and you feel that you can start to discover the full movement of your limbs
and that you should probably get up and dance and enjoy your rebirth before
everything seizes up again.

i dont feel like myself these days. i feel more like a hollow shell
wearing the name-tag "Laura."
i dont feel joy in a yarn beautifully dyed, fantastic words like recarciate,
the feel of clean sheets or the aroma of strong coffee (with milk).
i only inhale and exhale in breaths, one abrupt gasp after another
like a fish out of water or an old train
trying to get up a hill.

this marriage

i know im not everyone's "cup of tea"
but you chose me
chose me
you know what i mean
when i say something else
and i love that i dont have to repeat myself
love laughing at jokes wordlessly shared
my telepathic friend
no one else has to understand
can understand our rhythm
but even so, this private-conversation way of ours
empowers others
because of the way
it shapes me
and shapes you

watching

i see you faintly stirring
behind the curtain of my awareness
movement stolen
from the palm of stillness
you cast light and shadow
across my thoughts
light and shadow

you are the author
whose hands create, release
cradle
you are the eyes
that watch
you are the very clay itself

porch

I follow the grains of your skin, follow them out you ancient love you wisened friend.

this is not real

i dont know why in movies, it's sexy when a woman's hair blows across her face. i've tried it before--on many occasions (sitting on the porch on a breezy evening, driving down the freeway with the windows down) and it never works like that. always in the moment, when i'm feeling the wind bring strands of loose hair brushing against my skin, i think to myself "wow, i am really hollywood right now. i'm sure i look irresistibly mysterious and thoughtful. i'm sure it is adding greatly to my overall aesthetic appearance." and then, when i steal a glance at myself in the rear-view mirror or the reflection of the sliding glass door to the kitchen, the spell is instantaneously broken. i find myself the same ol', now slightly obscured by a mess of tangled knots. somehow, rather than making my hair shiny, soft and brilliant, it has transformed it to a stringy, oily horror that sticks to my face in odd places, even when i do one of those gentle, alluring head shakes (the ones where you lift your chin just a smidgen to show your graceful neck) to loosen them.

no. i dont know who came up with that, but it is not real.