18/30 Sweet

when my children find joy in a thing

I want to bask in their happiness

as long as I can

my son has this way

of making me laugh

at unexpected times

asking for snacks

celebrating the little things

I cleaned my room without being told

he says

this seems like a great time for cake!

the way he explains how cake

is the perfect food and if it's carrot cake

it's even better

he is not over exposed to sweets

but when it comes to cake he

can not stop himself

a self proclaimed cake connoisseur

he takes every slice seriously

thinking deeply over each bite

helpful suggestions on how

cake

can be done better

it has become a thing we do

at least once a month

where we seek out new cake

to try

over conversations

about

being a teenage boy

and girls

my favorite cake with him

was the double chocolate raspberry

after the first bite he put his fork down

looked at me seriously

there were tears in his eyes

he said this is probably

the most delicious cake

I have ever eaten

all I heard was

mom I love you so much

and thank you

we indulge on our cake dates

because we enjoy

the prolonged

exposure

to sweet

17/30 Jazz

makes me think of dancing

under a moon

not quite full

but it wants to be a kiss on the mouth

holding hands

taking over the world

tickling keys

drums in the background

a steady beat

dancing tongues

the morning comes sooner than expected

the sky lightens

but we keep moving

mellow and magic

the best of all the feelings

the motion more mysterious

we move

like if we keep dancing the way we do

morning won't come

we won't have to stop

go back to the mundane

everyday existence

we were desperate to escape from

so we focus on the moving

in the moment

16/30 Singe

the morning after I wrote you

the words sticky on the page

I thought of all the things  

I should have kept to myself

the doubt of how much to say

clouded my thoughts just enough

my tongue freed up by my pen

I said more than I thought possible

how could I write about this

I think

how can the words come so easy on paper

an an envelope with a stamp

not from a body standing in front of another body

so, I wrote

about the love and fear of love

lost in translation

about the fire

lodged in my throat

about the way

you only see me in pieces

crack in the foundations

and crumbling wall

I told you the story of how

I was once a dragon lady

my job to keep everything out

burn it away with my flaming tongue

how you were the cool

I needed

the ice on a burn

a calming effect

how with you my hands

no longer clawed at

but

embraced

held strong

I don't miss those days

as much

as I miss

the warmth of your smile

I only crave the flames

when you cover my pieces

in the frost of your cold shoulder

15/30 Winter

Years ago I hid behind my fear

let you float away from me.

Brown eyes and lips so full

they pleaded for acceptance

my fear refused to set my tongue free.

So I watched you go, made sure to cut all ties.

It was the only way to protect my heart from you.

The potential devastation was too much for me to step into.

I still mourn you in winter when the cold creeps in

you are the chill in the room.

The silver box, a gift given to me by an uncle

who convinced me that what ever dream I place inside

Would come true.

The same uncle who on Christmas Eve

Broadcasted Santa's demise

a crashed into the Gateway Arch,

The Saint Louis side.

When he spoke of dreams though,

his eyes held that wicked gleam

so I believed when he said,

"You can't go looking for it,"

he warned,

"it will find you when you least expect it.

Just speak the dream into the box and wait.

Dreams like to surprise you when they come true."

I believed him until I was ten.

The year I turned ten a boy I liked died.

He went fishing with his father and his father,'s father,

he was the only one not wearing a lifejacket

when the boat capsized.

I had never been to a funeral before,

never dreamed the young

could die so young.

His dreams would never come true

whether he placed them in my silver box

or the box that would be his home

underground.

I had a turtle named Snapper.

I know cleaver. His carapace,

a smooth green with yellow stripes.

It was the first pet I had that was considered my own.

I never let him mingle with the family pets, I

afraid the dog would eat him

while the cat could care less.

I'm pretty sure the cat believed us to be his pets.

I took him to show and tell once.

The bully boy in my class

poked him with a pencil.

I jumped on him.

Won my first fight

ruined his bully career at the same time.

My turtle died three days later.

My classmates made an altar for him.

The former bully brought me a snicker bar

every day for a month

a form of apology.

In my childhood neighborhood

there was a dog fenced at the corner house.

He barked and charged the fence

anytime anyone came near.

His growls would appear in dreams some nights.

One day, after serving detention,

walking home from school

sure that my troubles were just beginning

I barked back at the dog

then kicked the fence to prove my fierceness.

My eyes bulged wide as he stopped mid bark

as we both watched the fence slowly creak open.

I was running before I knew it.

He chased and barked.

Fumbling for my key I tripped up the stairs

leading to my safety.

Knocked the air out  of my lungs

lay sprawled on my front porch.

The growling dog stood over me

I waited for the bite,

he seemed to smile

licked my face

trotted away.

I cried for hours after.

I replayed my terror

still feared the dog

crossed the street whenever I had to pass

that house

sure that the next time he

would not hesitate to bite.

When she called me a mermaid

I felt powerful

like my breath would always be in my body

in or out of water.

I found a mermaid charm

sewed her into my hair to remind myself

I can swim anywhere.

It reminds me of her on the days that I twist my locs,

or when it passes my eye,

or on any Tuesday in winter.

A sure sign I'm nervous is if I twist my rings,

or talk too fast,

or walk, or sing,

or breathe, or eat apples,

or clean my car, or write a poem,

or, or, or.

Basically I'm always nervous

I believe it's because I care.

I still have the silver box.

And while I do not believe it makes dreams come true,

I place my heart inside in hopes that if it ever finds

brown eyes or full lips,

or the memories of a dead boy

maybe when I find the love

I long to give

my heart to in the open.

I will let my future lover find it.

Which means,

I will put it in her path.

We will open it together

I will no longer be hidden.

Maybe it will happen on a Tuesday

in winter.

14/30 Stray

I used to have a home. If you could call it that. There was a lot of noise all the time. When they do not think you understand what is happening you pretend you do not know what is happening. When the one with long fingers left, the food bowl would be empty more than not. Water was plentiful when the toilet seat was left up which was often when the one with the long fingers left. I was always grateful for the door flap. They called it a doggie door but I am no dog, I am a cat. The first day the one with the thick fingers forgot to put food in my bowl, I was OK. There are always things left lying around, not enough to fill an empty belly but to sustain. The box they liked me to use became so pungent it hurt to breathe in the air around it. The second day would be harder.

By day three, I used the doggie door, even though I am a cat. It was early in the morning and the grass was wet. I never liked walking in wet grass but I was hungry and my instincts drew me to the woods behind the house. I heard so many things, all of them sounding like something to eat. I crouched to listen closer. When the mouse ran by I pounced. I had never pounced before. I learned that day what my claws were for, why my teeth were shaped the way they are shaped. I wondered while I ate what I had been eating? No part of this meal was crunch or cold, but warm and blood and filling. I ate it all in one feeding. Licking my paws clean after, was a celebration.I feel asleep in a dapple of light with the knowledge that I could feed myself better than the one with long fingers..

By day five I ventured so far away from the doggie door and encountered so many delicious things I had no desire to go back. I couldn't go back to the crunchy cold meals, when I had the feeling of slicing open prey coursing through me. I dined on rats, birds, chipmunks and other things that might not sound as appetizing. I fell asleep every night in a new place belly full and satisfied.

I didn't meet my first dog until week two, that day I learned to climb a tree. It's quite a thrill to learn and master something the first time you try it. He barked for almost an hour. I thought, I could sit in this tree all day, but I watched him. I like to watch dogs their bodies give up so much information. Not like us cats, you never know what we are thinking but mind you we are thinking. All the time.

I find dogs fascinating, their aggression is very much over the top, it's almost like they fear me so they become louder in an effort to convince me that I am the one afraid. I fell for it once, ok maybe twice, but after surviving 3 years in this neighborhood the dogs don't bother me anymore. They know I will wait them out, I have never met a dog prepared to strike first. For split muzzle and hell no.

It is a lonely life sometimes. I do not have people to stroke my fur or listening to my purr, like the one with the long fingers.  I take comfort in knowing that even though she left me, I have survived.

I had a partner once, she did not understand about the dogs, when they barked, in fear she struck out, they smelled it, her fear, and fell on her. I watched from the tree, until they calmed down. I buried what was left.

Every once in awhile some pretty house kitty decides to walk on the wild side, she in heat and me paying attention. It is a loud affair and brief, but, it wouldn't surprise me to know that there are other cats out there who look like me.

Surviving is what I have done best. I have learned how to avoid the cars. I look both ways before crossing, always. I avoid or stare down the dogs and sometimes the men with nets and leashes. I feed myself.Go where I want. I love the feeling of dappled sunlight and all this freedom. But every once in awhile I dream of the one with the long finger. If I ever saw her again, I wonder would she know it was me? Would I remember her?

13/30 Rising

I can feel them trying to come 

the prickle the sting 

prying their way from me 

escape attempt

but I refuse to let them fall 

let them make this moment more erasure 

than it already is 

I hold them a talisman 

breath 

I hold that too as 

long as I can 

one exhale on the wrong side of mourning 

could drown me deeper than the last time 

so I hold them in 

the shudder of my chest 

a reminder of what happens 

when your heart turns library 

loaned out to diinterested readers 

who care more about the cliff notes 

less about the story 

everyone has 

only few read it back to themselves 

stuck on the same pages 

reliving past transgressions 

like a recipe to find something 

that was always lost 

even in the retelling 

they are still burning for release

but 

if I let one fall 

they will all cue up

fall forever 

I think 

best to hold them in 

at least until this wave passes 

store them up 

to water something 

that might possibly grow

12/30 For the Love of God and Everything Holy, Body, It's Bread. We Love That shit!

I have occupied this body for a very long time

and there are some betrayals I expect 

some of these balance themselves out 

menstruation for menopause  

200 bucks yearly flushed away for decades, 

saved 

in some account I call 

have fun not babies no more 

the stretch marks that replaced smooth skin 

I rationalized that one away 

called it a road map to places traveled 

called it the bumps along the way taught me 

how to navigate better 

called it braille for a lovers touch 

this geographic tongue 

I rationalized it called it 

your tongue has tasted too much bitter 

now time for all the sweet 

called it all the kissing tastes better 

called it whoever, 

whatever you put in your mouth is savored 

in a way that confuses the alphabet 

when my body starts doing the strange

a random elbow rash, 

the phuck? 

bizarre pinking around the eyes and swelling lips 

the hell?

clearly an allergic reaction 

but to what I think

I don't ask my body 

she's on some other shit right now 

if she doin what I think she's doin

the last time I asked my body 

if I was really allergic to something

let's call them oranges 

because I love oranges 

and their cousins all things citrus 

my body said 

"yes, 

yes, Theresa

you are allergic to oranges"

I said, "not today body, 

not today" 

to show her, I ate a bag of oranges 

yeah, I ran a little fever and the rash went away

eventually

but in the way off all vaccinations 

you give yourself a bit of the poison 

your body will provide a defense, 

I am no longer allergic to oranges 

I am however still allergic to the peels 

so I can't peel those fucker

but I will eat them all 

cause my skin does it's own thing and since 

it is the largest of all the organs 

I let her do her what she do

mostly 

but last week, 

last week I noticed the elbow rash 

pink rash around my eyes and lips 

thought, oh hell no 

so like the orange experiment 

I ate all the bread, 

it got worst so 

I denied myself all things delicious 

for 24 hours 

the symptoms calmed 

I went out for dinner 

I want the biggest fucking burger you have 

and it was OK the first few bites 

by bite five 

my lips started burning the swelling began

my elbows were itching as if 

they could scratch themselves 

I remained calm, resisted the urge to 

drop to my knees and scream to the heavens 

"Noooooo, bread! 

Has thou forsaken me? 

Does thee doubt my love 

my devotion you fickle ass delicious lover" 

but bread 

I knew bread wouldn't hear me

she always cheating up in here on everybody's plate

right in front of me

besides my friend works at this restaurant 

hey Anisa

it would have been weird 

and my allergicness to possible police involvement 

is one I have no issue with

so, the scene happened in my head, 

loudly 

as I wondered if it was just bread, 

prayed lord, let it be just bread

next week the beer experiment 

but in the mean time, 

I found this gluten free vodka, his name is Tito, 

as I mourn my lover bread

Tito, tonight he has got my back

unlike this body