L U M I N A * N O S T R I

Beware The Objective Genitive (alt. title: Grammar’s a bitch) ~ My business’s name is a mistake,  Yet, there are no mistakes. I’ve found  ~ in languages that are not my own I often tell on myself, reveal ~ my intentions more awkwardly than the subtleties of my mother- ~ tongue. There is no hiding when Grammar comes to call, “lumina nostris [sunt] and Lumina Nostri are not the same.”  he spits. ~ My business name is not Our Lights as my mother-tongue first lead me to believe. ~ It’s Lights Upon Us, but only if we believe  that which we create— ~ those over which we endure our passions are never within our possession. ~ No,  not really. Rather, they are what we reach for  sempiternally.

 Morning Space When you have dreams that from the floor you see your favorite student shot; that your partnership with the man there is founded on being brave enough to treat the wound in his groin— those are the mornings you say yes to the light you want even if you have to scootch the cat. You go outside to go inside, and try to keep finding, —from ridge to crow to purple flower to leaf— that great sky everyone keeps talking about. You fight the urge to text your gal pal, hold off on listening to that voicemail from a certain him. You allow yourself to check your virtual car windshield, see if anyone in your community has left you a little note. The emails from your poet friends and that one comedian, so skinny and cute, these make it in, make you smile. This is the best you can do. This is the best you can do.  

 In the House of the Poet I arrive thirty minutes early, palms sweaty, pen in hand,    pause at the poetry library.   When, there while I stand, a little bird tells me "Not yet! You're too soon."  So, I dash away to be not seen from that front room.  I drive to get coffee, but end up with a plant, a new journal a moon garden, a new pen for my hand.  "Is someone here," the women whisper, as I come through the door "Hello, yes it's me, I thought that's what it was open for..." "Welcome!" they say, eyes bright and mouths full "Welcome in, and thank you dear," I watch for the rules.  Shoes on or off? Which seat is required? "Did you see her library? Come, look, be inspired!" That's when I realize, I've walked into a dream her home is a vision I've both always and never seen.  Poems on poems, shelves upon shelves I stand there and marvel, were they sorted by elves? Ceramics, bronze sculptures, figure drawing...