Ink it out! 

  

Art speaks in limitless ways 

The way dancers flock to an open space 
The way brushstrokes externalize a buried rage 
The way a chef sprinkles rosemary and sage 
The way a writer grips to the connection of a page 
Or a stick
Grounded dirt or sand
I once wrote with my fingernail on the shakiness of my panicked palm
Bathroom stalls and park benches 
Sometimes lipstick and a mirror appear heaven gifted 
When my daughter died I scribbled inside my head 
The litter of leftover thoughts
Still murmur like a distant rattling of mamas mixing pots 
Beyond a perfect line, circle or square 
Is my stream of penmanship 
Combating the woo of normalness
I do my best work under the duress of craziness
I wrote on a notepad in a bathtub in a hotel room
They said my brother was dying 
And I didn’t know what the fuck else to do
Punch a nurse or doctor?
The postman of premortem…
My tips ink it out harder 
Sometimes I dance and scream 
Shredding down the walls of my brain
Griefs found me like a ravaging bloodhound
Inside, all is not safe and sound 
But I smile and wave and nod
I am a mother and a lover 
I am a human spirit 
I share grief with the infinity of others
“Let’s talk and sit around in a circle”
but sometimes I spin out!
My Shape… is nameless
A pale face bound by a galaxy of freckles 
The overlapping and intersecting lines
The willpower of a lioness
There are no instructions for madness!
So I use the benefit of pen and paper
To be understood by myself 
and none other.