transplant poetry.

it comes off in patches.

it's the worst pain i've known
growing into myself.
so many bones broken
from word boulders
shot with hate catapults.
arms tired, muscles aching
trembling from peeling away
layers of expectation
and normal.
it comes off in patches
closer than my skin.
it rips, i bleed
and know that i will heal
in rough patches of scars.
the tissue will trail out
and remind me of the way stars
glittered the night
i asked God to break me--
the darkness where i said:
i don't need you to build me a path,
only let your light guide me
through dense fields of
honesty and invention,
veracity and falsehood
to touch the core of you.
to see the face of God.


---------------------

four.a.m.

I.
in the german language
there are three relative pronouns
der
die and
das—
masculine
feminine and
neutral
(respectively)
and there is no breathing reason
why the moon—der Mond—
is masculine
and the sun—die Sonne—
is feminine
but astronomy tells me:
that the moon shines only by
reflecting light from the sun
that the moon is only visible
because of the sun
that the moon would be just a crater
in the sky
without the sun.
and so it goes.

but
in this death darkness of night
that i’ve lived my whole life
i’ve seen nothing—
nothing!—
but the moon.

the moon wrote its own history
and that of the earth
reflecting shadows of war
(no peace!)
to outshine all the other dingy craters.
but,
the moon doesn’t lend heat
or generate light!
shadows spread longer, stain
the ground at midnight.

but,
what have i gained in
hearing the moon? or
accepting the moon? or
following the moon with my eyes?
nothing.
i have gained hazy alley rape
and retreating murky figures—
nothing.
i have gained gloomy cells housing
prisoners of conscience—
nothing.
i have gained Emmett Till and
Matthew Shepherd’s mangled bodies—
nothing.
i have gained a victim’s interrogation
at her rapist’s trial—

and my chest will hold no remorse
none.
for the moon when it dies.


II.
O, my good fortune!
it’s four a.m. and
in the east
the hovering grey sky dissipates—
the revolution
swirls splatters of purples and yellows
driving it away.

the sun is awake
and the coast is grasping for it,
praying it home
to warm the air.
to illuminate the sky.



---------------------

RomansTwelveTwo

i.
the ongoing struggle between
good and evil, between
god's will and human desire
has taken over my life.
it has consumed me to the point of
looking at a leaf falling
to the ground and
making me wonder
if god wanted that leaf to fall
or if our misuse and destruction of the earth
has so changed the temperature
of the air
that a cold mass
hit a warm mass
that wasn't supposed to exist
and created that tiny wind
and knocked that beautiful leaf
from the branch
god placed it on.

ii.
the reason your stomach feels sick
and you feel like crying
every morning
is because i am not what you want me to be
but i still
Still
always need your love--
Always.

iii.
my favorite bible verse is
romans 12:2, it reads:
do not conform any longer
to the patterns of this world
but be transformed
by the renewing of your mind
and i can't help but wonder
if you could find comfort in this.
that not all the world teaches you
is god's will.
that the beliefs that have been
engraved
in your brain
are wrong
and foolish
to believe that god disapproves of love
because when i lift up my hands
on the floor
alone
in my empty dorm room--
all i feel is love.
on my fingertips
and around each strand of hair
and deep in my bones
and underneath my toenails
because god Is love.