July 2007 Archives
My Friend Brings Tears
Hurt rushes in, takes up residence.
Some of it lives on the surface,
ready to be expressed anytime,
anywhere, toward anyone,
over ordinary incidents.
Bristly prickles.
"I don't fetch anything
for anyone."
she says.
Is that: No one
is worthy of
her energy or love?
The Goddess listens.
In this way
she protects the inner pain;
conserving its energy
for the sparkling moment
when someone comes close
to assuaging it.
"No, stop,
get away,
leave
me
alone!"
she cries.
The heat is so fierce
that it burns those
who used to be welcome:
Children, family, friends.
Those who might give solace
become smoking cinders.
The Goddess watches.
It is so difficult
when one refuses
alleviation.
So difficult.
What can one do
but back away and
offer love, peace
and good wishes.
Cry over the pain,
and cry over the loss.
Even asking to get close
seems tantamount to delivering
the original blows.,
So I leave her
alone.
I cry quietly.
The Goddess does too.
© 2007 Deborah Bolle
Reunion
I have not seen her
for a very long time.
Reaching
I ask if I may touch her.
She nods yes.
With my eyes closed
i put my palms near her cheeks,
only lightly touching.
I feel electrified.
I move my hands back,
my thumbs grazing her cheekbones
and i gather her hair and lift it
behind her.
I place a hand on the back of her neck
and lightly massage.
She breathes deeply,
and stretches tall.
She moves her head
back and forth
then up and down,
then draws circles in the air
with her nose.
I let her hair fall over my hand
and pull her to me
by the small of her back.
We lean into each other -
even our knees touch.
I inhale and get dizzy
remembering the way we smell.
I whisper in her ear,
"I want to be touching you
the entire tine you are here."
She takes my hand
and we walk.
Deborah Bolle © 2007
Hand Bird
If someone loves me
with all of her heart
but i am not sure i love her
the same way
should i take the bird in hand
and try to learn to love her,
or pursue the free bird
that might never love me
but to whom I am inexorably drawn?
Should I introduce them,
And take myself away?
I think they could love
each other
better than I
can love either.
No...
I love she who loves me.
But I am afraid for her,
afraid I will not be good for her.
After we are together
will she still be as happy as now
will she be happier,
will she be less happy
and have regrets?
"Let her decide,"
my other friends say.
But I know that
if I am not here
I will not harm her.
If I am here...
I know myself
© 2007 Deborah Bolle
Parts
I am made of parts.
Sometimes the parts work together,
then I can dance.
But when they do not
all grace dissipates
and I lose my balance.
Feet get ahead of themselves,
My brain shuts down or goes elsewhere,
My emotions not only lead me astray
But stare with disbelief that I followed!
I met her while dancing.
We took some steps,
and danced well.
I was comfortable and happy.
But before long my good sense and
emotions had parted ways.
Emotions kept reminding me
of all the ghosts cruising the hospital,
who had run out of time too soon.
There is not always time to do it right.
So at their urging
I tried to leap from Modern Dance 101
to the American Ballet Company.
I really did wish to dance...
but the toe shoes shattered my
feet of clay and left me in ruin.
My emotions got stupid
and didn't pay attention
to the obvious:
The dance is a delicate thing.
Rushing has left my parts disparate
Pieces of heart strewn about;
I can't find them all.
Tears.
When I close my eyes tightly
I hear thunder.
Tears.
© 2007 Deborah Bolle
As I Age
not in a frenzied race,
but a quiet aligning
of spirits
for as long as it takes
until we dissolve
into one
and we don't know
if it has been all day
or two days.
When i kiss your eyes
I kiss my eyes.
When I stroke your breasts
I stroke the Goddess' breasts,
and she is pleased.
There is nothing I have
that I can give you,
for it is already yours.
Yet with your touch
you give me stars
and comets to ride
through the cosmos
on a wave that
brings me back to you.
© 2007 Deborah Bolle
Magic
she tells me I have magic
she tells me I am the petal of a rose
she tells me I am a stream
she tells me I am the sky
she tells me I have gifts
I have fear
the petal faded
the air stagnant
the stream fouled
the gifts plundered
a heart comes
it brings color
it brings drink
it brings fresh air
it brings hope
but it bleeds
I patch it with the petal
I wash it in the stream
I refresh it with the air
i hold it next to mine
they beat together
ordinary magic
Deborah Bolle \© 2007
