finding my way into myself- or at least to other things through meditation

i sit down

sit bones feeling the floor

ok, know breath.

k, now breathe

ow- this hurts, why do i do this?

ow this hurts. k know breath. feeling breath coming in-lungs fulling, hmm more to the right than left.

images of sex

ow this hurts.

i see all the little creatures pounding and piercing my tissue.

breath? emails, phone calls, images of sex... ok ok- these are thoughts.

this hurts.

images of sex- again?

it's been more than twenty minutes- my alarm must be broken.

dont check your phone- dont check your phone- dont check your phone.

ok, only 5 more minutes.

now, breathe,

now breathe

images of.....oh god

where am i anyway?

three words shifting us

when i say the word 'between'

the syllable created from my tongue touching my mouth excites

when i say the word 'closer'

we soften

when i say the word 'leaving'

you move quick, the cells in me holding must believe the can hold you here

(mistranslated poem by Trzy Slowa Najdziwniesje by Wislawa Szymboska)

i am really not alone

uh oh- uh oh

Berkeley Bowl feels calmer than me

must be the weekly itch

i am in the grocery store

begin the begging-

i can whimper too

must have been crazy

long long ago when i dreamed of babies

i been longing since my kindergarten playground

never ending dreams

"don't put me on a pedestal and look up my skirt damn it" She giggles

so do i.

she got me to the grocery store too

what is it about grocery stores?

and i can't remember that word you taught me

and i cant ask you

now i lay so heavy that i know where i am

searching for poetry?

Sometimes i don't see the poetry of slicing an orange

or standing in the kitchen

or waiting in line

or unzipping my pants

typing, staring,

or stepping

(i watch her put on her glasses

the babies legs are cringingly extended)

But oh when I do- when I do!

aaahhh, when I am.

*sometimes one just needs to eat- or walk- or lay day with out it meaning a damn thing.

what i sense now is.....

spine curved crunched by the wood behind me

moving toward the left- i move- or mostly don't

in the place behind my heart, but in front of my spine

it longs to be curved by the warm wet womb

or maybe a gentle hand would to....

how am i still here?

So you are not the laying next to me,

You are not at the grocery store efficiently finding bulk items while I stand, held tilted up and to the left wishing I felt okay sucking my thumb in decay of the store.

What could you be doing right now?

Your not the one I wake up next to

And I stir my own peanut butter

Your not pushing your head into me

What could you be doing right now?

And no is what I’m saying

But your still the ‘you’ in all my poems

I only sing our love songs

And when I am trying to be in the reality of [having 2 parents- who each had 2 parents- leading us to 8 great grandparents and 10 people who had to make a baby for me to be alive….. who also had two parents---- 16- to 32—to 64- to 128- 256-512 ]….. all these people made babies whose genes are swimming in me---it’s you I think of.

What could you be doing right now?

Then I wonder if I can hold the sadness of all the broken bodies-loves- in my genes and it might be the same question as if I can hold our fragmented cells-

Checking my phone-busy busy busy- checking my phone- distraction-checking my phone.

same old story

How could I ever write anything worth reading?

“you know, you really talk to much”- I was just telling him about school, sitting on the edge of the couch

and now if I sit long enough I start to feel a growing balloon in my esophagus- threatening to burst

uhhhhhhhh- im not really sure- I don’t know- I forgot- I don’t know- I forgot-