love songs

those songs sweet piano notes the ones sung by Adele hurt the most as they remind me of what dad did to mom

those words from boisterous guys showing off on bended knee their devotion perfection and digits of currency in worship of me will someday soon turn lethal

those men with delusions of being the righteous new species from Adam came and it won’t change that they are internally afraid of what their daddy did to their momma

from time unknown we flow and go turning around in circles a pull a push in darkness beams and the light sometimes is not that clear

even tears give up before our heart when we slip into children playing dress up me mommy’s shoes you daddy’s boots the familiarity of violence

time does not heal no matter how much it says in the public service announcement the warning signs the stacking cans of fire water rage combustion on music notes the peaceful hoax of love everlasting

dying calla lilies

quiet night traffic far away
every now and then a pup yelps
a wayward bird sings outside my bedroom tree
on book table black pressed wood
furniture of wayward youth
thrift store jar where my heart lives
a pair of dying calla lilies
representatives of shifts in life
into a phone i type feelings that should have been spoken many years ago
supple tender gentle were my hands
reaching up to the hearts of men
and discovered as i pulled back empty bleeding stumps that they had no love to give me

mbrazfield (c) 2021

take it like a man

sky weeping like widow
breeze cold dead man bones
the mirror of wilted flowers in my eye
piano and Adele my lips shut
breath held tight
her song did puncture
the pus filled soul in me
a mallet made of wings
swung across a street
it struck me in the heart
had that ambush ne’er happened
i would have never known
i was woman
for all the times
i had to take it like a man
to bow my head or look away
the lost glamorous stare
the sinking laugh
into the nothing
you said your mother would have liked me
but you never were in love
a convenience fuck i solely was

old at 8

on auxiliary thought
it doesn’t seem
as if life can get
too heavy but
my bones no longer
care to witness
the simple matter
that is before me

time is lost but like
my bones it prefers
to be in limbo and
time, she knows distance
is for my own good

apart from some golden
days and some hours
made of lead i can stand
up and smile at Pluto
my fourth grade friend

on the yard where

riddles stood for rites of passage