For all the Vulnerable Lovers of the World

Deep down where seeds
Grow the water of my sorrow
Is building a place where
All may come to the table
No numbing the warning grief
Allowed we must survive this
Raging flood of evil thought
Only One Mind made of the toughest
Open crucifiable love can conquer
Such lying power I cover my ears
And open my aching heart

A Look In the Great Mirror

I listen to Marie Howe speak of writing poetry
Try to imagine what I could say about this life
How I read the Bible as a child loving the wild
Stories of the old book, Deborah riding her horse
To battle, Easter seducing a king, a lone woman
Putting a nail through the temples of an enemy
And I there listening as  a pre-liberation girl child
Now open my grown
Girl butter places softened by the endless
Love talk you make with me so foreign to the preachers
Who used the New Testament to drone on about
How to live and go to hades,  missing the stories of lost sheep
And weeping whores who pulled water from
The deepest wells because they were there
And thirsty. it is for some small minutes of mercy
Those glimpses of your reflection in my mirror
That I live a story too beautiful for words

Goddess of the Woods

For my grandmother Fredacy Pray
She kissed the woods with her
Celtic goddess ways a lady slipper
Hiding in the deep opened itself to
Her hungry knowing eyes past the
Dust of the dirt road past the dirt
Of her life screwed up with divorces
Harshness beyond belief her prayer
Was Erin’s isle before St. Patrick
Came and placed the whole country
In religious exile she carried the blood
Of women born with Bridget bones
Here after the potato famine
Here nothing but insane poverty of the
American depression landscape starvation
Induced immigration did not save
Her from harshness that
So many years of war had built into
The skin of her Irish DNA I loved
My grandmother, though she could
Not help but die of a brain tumor before I was two.