Monthly Archives: November 2013

after the funeral

tombstone2In response to my last, I want to be kind, my alter-ego writes:

I do NOT want to be kind
fuck kind
kind can yudu na hooey
I want to be inconsolable
throw some expensive stuff
make some noise
stomp some toes
split some wigs
yell obscenities

I want to laugh nervously
and loudly
like the villain-ess
in the movies
and then catch your
discomfort and fear in my hand
as it comes flying off you
take a bite and then
smear it back in your face
while I laugh again

no apologies
not even in my head
no whatifIgetintroubleforthis

I want to rip the bandaid
off your dirty
and lick it
before flinging it at
some innocent

I want to snarl
with feral eyes
and snap my teeth
the hand that tries
to feed me
tame me
I won’t be tamed

I do not want to be kind

I will raise
the dead
as my companions
wear them as my cloak
they will swirl around and ahead of me
a warning cloud of regret
and sadness
a harbinger
clearing the way
scattering leaves
in my path

I will sit right down
into my vicious
close to the bone


and discuss important things
with the elements

“Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages–and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.”

command the tempest
invite Gaia too
no one will dare
to approach uninvited
watching from behind hidden
hoping I don’t notice

I do not want to be kind

I want to lap
up your fear
your lust
your slick arrogance
your greed
the distrust I can feel in you
and swallow it down
and sustained
then I want to shit it out
feed it back to you

I want to stretch
so tall
and broad
as to darken the Earth
in my rage
my discomfort
my dis-ease
rain down my regrets
into your hair
tributaries to your tears
the lightening splitting
me open
to you

I want to bash
against the door
of your hate
your intolerance
your indifference
your fear
so endlessly
so mercilessly
that you are forced to finally
expose yourself to me
until you have
to answer and come out
to be accounted for

to face me
to look into my eyes

I do not want to be kind

Also published at elephant journal as After You Died

Grace is a Certified Hypnotherapist and Registered Psychotherapist in Ft. Collins, CO, USA. She sees clients and facilitates Divine gracethanx2013.3Feminine Hypnotherapy workshops for women. She’s a flaming, Earth-loving, tree-hugging, save-the-Planet, believes-in-faeries, bike-riding, card-carrying, spiritual but not religious, hippie cowgirl liberal poet—yep, they do exist. She writes for The Scarlet Orchid and elephant journal. You can find her blog here and her creations here. You can also connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

I want to be kind

I want to be kind
really kind
of thought
and deed

not just act kind
not just say kind things
have kind, loving thoughts also

I want to be the person
who thinks of all the many
that could be
in play
for the person
in front of me
to have cut me off in traffic


without having to remind myself
without changing my mind
without having to rethink
without excuses
without reward
without having to restrain myself
in body or word

I just want to be kind

despite the media
only showing me violence
despite the road rage
pointed at me and my bike
despite Bella the cat
biting my hand
breaking the skin

the reports
the research
the polls
that tell me it is unsafe
to be a female
and walk alone

despite the fact
that I live in a human body
that never stood a chance
against that car

that bleeds
that cries
that feels pain

I just want to be kind

against the odds
against the flow
against the majority
against my reptilian brain

I want to be kind

tree bones

I love
the flesh of trees
in the Spring

so fresh and full
like tender baby cheek
plump and downy
green and succulent

and I love the
tough stringiness
of late summer leaves
where scars
of all those summer
still show

I must applaud
the strength
of the tender leaf
hanging on there
but showing its maturity
its life
telling its summer story

I see where Bella
the cat
shredded that one leaf
before I could get to her and make
her stop
crying out
as I thought of the tree’s pain

I see where the wind
has browned the leaf edges
where that one arm
always gets whipped by the wind

and then Autumn
slides in so stealthily
sometimes just a few
leaves at a time seal off
become their true color
stop wearing their chlorophyll masks
and take me by surprise
the entire tree is old
and wearing its scars
but still green
with only one armful gone yellow
to mark the shifting of the Orb
on its axis

and I still love the tree flesh
that is now old and golden
the glow
that fills the heavens
love walking through
that thick amber air

I am most shocked
each year when
I look at my friends
and see their spines exposed
the bones
the vertebrae
stripped of their flesh

can see each twist
and knuckle
each joint
and knot

can hear those bare
bones clattering
and sawing against
each other
in the night
outside my window
the wind playing
macabre tree bone tunes

the way the arm bones
raw and stark
rise from that spine against a pale
watery winter
sky and turn into hands
splayed open and still reaching

I ask them for what
they are reaching all winter
my friends

the Spring
they laugh at me
the Warmth
we are just stretching here