33. Cary & Beaumont, Richmond, Virginia

October 7, 2014

To a You,

Today I hold captive this tongue

notoriously quick to split and spit venom

because today in the silence of this battered brain

I heard a most reasonable voice

urging me

with sounds so soft and humble

to be thankful.

Be thankful that you feel this Anger

it said

because this means you are saved.

Turn it inside out in your mind

instead of hurling it against your Lover

or your Mother

or your Children.

Hold this Anger up like a map

that shows you where to find yourself-

where you've been

where you never want to go again

where your boundaries are

and give thanks.

These words were a foreign language

to this dumb child

and the stretch of silence before I spoke

was an unfamiliar region

but I stayed there

until through a cell of broken teeth

I heard my tongue move in thanks.

Your Friend,

A

32. Mary Angelo's, Carytown, Richmond, Virginia

October 7, 2014

To You,

The wind speaks to the water in my body,

commanding it to move swiftly-

to cells sleeping and raw with violence.

My eyelids shiver in revolt 

at the stuttering slideshow 

delivered by breath both sweet and cold.

With forced resuscitation

this swirling savior screams- "Breathe!"

The wind doesn't comprehend the language of refusal.

It doesn't hear the sound excuses make-

That disappointing thump of No.

It's a rough lover,

forcing me to feel all things.

Because to accept the shape and smell and taste of all things 

Is to know both how small and how mighty I am.

Your Friend,

A

31. 7-11 on Beaumont & Cary, Richmond, Virginia

October 7, 2014

To You,

I am a fortunate child
fostered from a forgotten heap
by thought-filled architects who
send one hundred whispered wisdoms
into the empty cups of my ears
disrupting dusty abstraction
long settled in the hot air of my head.
One hundred pillow fingered hands
tilt my chin into light
and ease open locked jaws
to taste the fresh fruit and air
that will rouse my stagnant cells.

Your Friend, 

A