Weights of lead

I carry them willingly.

Listening to every word that’s said.

problems. politics. pain. this world and death.

Levitate like some Indian fakir in a trance,

prove that the human will can dominate form

over matter, matter into form, or at least transcend.

I’m rolling fixed dice for my life.

It’s not meant for me to win.

I’m meant to lose. Yeah, lose.

Losing is so comfortable.

Why? I ask

No-vaccination daughter

Reason illogical,

How did we get here?

come

sit by the bay window

set the paring knife down

next to the apples

cover the mending basket

the rising dough

leave this work for now

When I think of magic the only

Thing I find is you–

What does it mean for the

Magician to die?

I am woods at night

seeking balance

between embattled branches

darkening bark-

loamy imperfections

shifting sighing moaning

deep harmonious aching.

To some it is magic – to others it’s bland.

Some cultures enjoy it – others don’t understand.

The illusions of magic are fun to believe,

But nature has even more things up its sleeve.

Red tongue swallows a spark

hide and reveal

not a lark

But real.

This whole time I’ve been a caterpillar

Curled up in a little ball

Chrysalis surrounding me

In a soft safe space

While I lick my wounds

A smoke scrim conceals the land

and fatigues the sun.

The gray dwelling stands

empty on overcast grass.

watch the magician’s eyes, not his hands

and you will see what he is thinking

where he is going

not what he is trying to make you believe

The cold chain is wrapped around us

at the moment of our birth

Silent hands pull us through the years

I never told you what I really think

Of how much you mean to me.

My true opinions about what I feel,

What you feel,

Are left chained and rot,

Until they turned into dust.

The chains cut into my soft flesh.

I am manacled by doubt, weighed down by grief,

a paroxysm of pain.