Everything is gray.

It didn’t rain on the parade,

But without the sun to shine

Its bright and happy light,

The flowers bristled on the floats,

The nervous queens without their coats

Went pale and shivered while they waved,

And only a few royal blue kerchiefs

Persisted to blow and show their 

Splashes of color true against the wind.

But spring will come again next year,

And maybe there will be some sun,

And maybe then, the rest of the world can shine, too.

But everything is gray, today,

With just a splash of blue.

-jenn 

The gods put lions

On the sierra that slopes down to the sea

To prevent the early humans there

From ever finding the ocean.

The gods had given the humans

A lot of work to do,

And didn’t want them ever to see

The beauty of the beach,

Or ponder the sagacity of the great waters,

The timelessness of time, or

The hopelessness of grandeur.

But one lone soul went wandering 

Beyond the borderline,

Innocent as a child and

Unafraid of lions,

And when this soul reached the shore

Where the sea washed up,

This soul became the very first infidel

According to the gods.

But in truth this soul

Had become the very first true believer.

-jenn 

Is it lucky we know how to cry

Before we are able

To comprehend true sorrow?

Or is it by design?

Is it lucky the rains come,

Then the tiny flowers bloom?

Tears are such a simple reality.

They help us from being overblown.

They leak out to temper our desire

And keep us from completely bursting

Prematurely.

-jenn 

They say people who live in glass houses

They say that people who live in glass houses

Shouldn’t throw stones.

But people who live in bubbles

Shouldn’t throw anything.

I’m on an island 

To translate a glyph

That’s recently been discovered.

I have the urge to dress

Like the people here do,

So that I don’t stand out or offend.

I ask them where they’ve gotten their particular brand

Of American looking t-shirts and shorts.

My guide opens a bamboo chifforobe full of apparel,

And tells me to pick out some things for myself, 

As he tells me it’s all stuff

That’s washed up on their shores.

And when I look closer, I see,

The only reason the colors in their outfits 

Complement each other so scientifically well,

Is the past they share

Of salt sea-soakedness and sun washings

That has faded them just enough

To be perfect.

And as they eagerly lead me deep 

Into the jungle that has overtaken the heart 

Of the forgotten temple complex

Where the ancient writing has only lately been detected,

I know that no matter what it says,

And no matter where else I travel, 

I will forevermore wear these 

Miss-matched, over-size island clothes 

My guide has offered me

From his own closet,

And forever ponder how scientifically well

All races of washed up, threadbare humanity

Could complement one another

If we only would so choose.

-jenn 

Gawdy gold chains around the neck

Of a colorfully painted, smiling Buddha,

Dollar bills folded origami style 

And hung with hot pink pipe cleaners 

On a dusty miniature Christmas tree,

And this is the place the thieves thought to rob!

They shot the old lady in her consignment store

For twenty dollars and some tokens to the car wash.

There was really nothing more,

Except that she might 

Pick them out of a police lineup.

But hi-tech cameras across the street

On the front of the Sack and Go,

Did more than enough to identify 

The culprits, and so, when they saw themselves 

On CCTV, they plead guilty,

To avoid the death penalty they’d

Imposed on someone else.

-jenn 

When my neighbor was 89,

She asked me to take her down to Davis

To the sulphur springs in the Arbuckle Mountains.

She told me all her friends were gone,

And she wanted to see the oaks 

And the smooth stones sparkling 

In the shallow creeks down there,

One more time, before she went away.

-jenn 

I pet two cats at once to see 

Which one likes it better.

Which will purr loudest for me?

Which one hold his head just so?

Which will enjoy it most?

It’s not a fair contest.

I’m petting one cat with my left hand

And the other with my right,

And try as I might, one finger of my left hand

Keeps sticking awkwardly up the left hand kitty’s ear.

He doesn’t seem to care.

Both cats purr equally,

Both equally contented.

I cannot get the cats to compete

At which enjoys the petting most,

But when it comes time for them to eat,

The bigger cat wins that, no contest.

-jenn 

I stand and look up

At your statue on the pedestal.

It looks just like you.

I’m happy for you.

The sky is blue behind you,

The garden, quiet here,

But I remember when

You used to be real.

-jenn 

A very quiet heroin problem 

Walks the city at dusk

In a dirty plaid shirt and a rumpled pair of jeans.

And in the hush-hush of the afterglow, 

The city fathers attempt to call his parents,

But no one shows up to claim him

Except an older gentleman on a ratty bike

With a backpack full of leaves.

And in the confusion of his camouflage jacket,

I see myself.

My mind is so disheveled.

But my heart is clear,

And my tears are, too, but salty.

-jenn 

Someone calls my phone 

Someone calls my phone

And tries to talk to me.

He tells me things about his day

And asks me how I am.

But maybe he knew the previous owner

Of this phone?

I don’t know what to say to him.

I’ve tried to tell him that I am not the “she”

Who he has previously spoken to.

I’ve tried to say 

His small talk seems so far away

And from a distant time,

But he continues to tell me of the weather,

And then he asks me how I am.

I don’t know what to say to him.

I’ve hung up twice.

He calls me back and tells me, “that’s not nice.”

I’ve tried to be this she he thinks I am,

But I don’t ever seem

To answer him properly

And he gets mad.

One day he texts,

And the next thing I know,

If I don’t say something back fast enough,

He’s answered himself in a line below it,

And so, sometimes I feel

He would be better off,

To just have these talks with himself,

So my end of the conversation 

Would come across more pleasing to him.

I seem to disappoint him so.

I try to say, “I’m not the girl

You used to know,” but he won’t hear it.

And if her spirit could speak to him,

I have no idea what she might say,

For it seems she is the one

Who went away, and got a different number.

And did she forget to tell him what the new one was?

Or did she remember all too well

The crazy hell it was to try to have

Even a polite shallow conversation?
He asks me how I am.
I try to tell him.

I’m going to try once more,

To get through to him

Who I really am, and how,

And if that doesn’t work this time,

I may have to get a new number, too.

-jenn 

Even though it was cold,

And the heater didn’t work,

I was warm, and I was happy,

The night I slept with you.

And even though the Big Dipper 

Was upside down and wouldn’t hold

A drop of rain, I heard the sound

Of one hand clapping, like Thunder 

Falling to the ground, and I saw lightning

And was soaked, by the time the stars

Blew out their lights, and the Sun 

Came tiptoeing in to wake us.

-jenn 

If I don’t have much to say,

I’m remembering a dream

That started when a white crane flew

And sun shined on his feathers.

And if my eyes seem far away,

They’ve flown on a seam into the sky,

A silent wake created by wings

That disappear 

To the farthest corners of my mind.

But all these things I cannot say aloud,

For breath would have to pass across

My heart and throat, and I have none.

And even a moan may not escape 

The deep place I hold for you,

Here in my soul.

I hold my breath there while I view my own heart,

As I dream of you and white cranes flying.

-jenn 

There’s a place inside you where

Your mother’s DNA unzipped,

As did your dad’s,

And strands of both 

Both danced together in 

The fertilized egg,

And then you grew,

Like dough that rises quickly.

It kneads itself,

Turning inside out and outside in

And then it’s done,

And you were born,

And here you are.

And you continued,

And you continue still,

To unfold and grow and be

What you will, and yet your will

Is strangely quiet at times,

For it’s not your mind that gives 

The color to your eyes,

Or your height or the number of hairs

That grace your head, or if they’re brown

Or blonde or red, or gray,

And you can’t say what age you’ll grow to be,

But here you are,

Here with me,

And here I am.

I’m me, and you’re you,

And we are beautiful.

We are beautifully alive.

We grew to what we are today.

The universe is growing.

Everything has come

From a seed, the moons, the stars,

The wind, the trees, the earth, the nations,

The love, the peace, the wars,

And here you are,

With me.

And there’s a place so deep inside you

Where it all began.

I want to see it if I can,

To touch your mystic beginning here,

Understand even more

Why you are so beautiful.

But here you are,

And I can only smile.

Here we are

Together for a while.

-jenn 

The only photo they had of him

Was a recent one he’d put on Facebook,

Taken with his two year old baby girl.

He was holding her

Up by his chest, his arm tight

Around her tiny legs.

She clasped her left hand in a fist,

Like babies do, when they grab a rattle, 

Or a finger, but hers was empty.

Her right hand rested on his shoulder,

And in it she clutched a tube of uncapped chapstick.

She had his eyes and his kinky twirls of light brown hair.

They were both beaming big smiles.

And it was such a lovely photo,

They put it on top of his casket

Which was closed.

-jenn 

Change of Venue

The evil villain with the manly chin 

Is deeply affectionate.

He doesn't want to appear effeminate,

But he loves to cook.

He sighs when he looks outside.

His public awaits and expects for him 

To show his mighty daunting hand

With some great feat of dastardly deceit

For the good guy to fix,

So the good guy can get away with murder.

But the evil villain is tired 

Of being such a provider of excuses,

And hopes the good guy trips 

Over the nooses and snares he's lain.

No explanation should be needed

If he quits feeding the fires of this particular duality

And moves on into a better reality for himself.

The world can find some other scape goat.

The evil villain wants to make breakfast burritos 

And crochet coats for the needy,

And hand them out on the corner

In front of his very own house.

-jenn

The thing I love about clouds is,

You can see a face in the sky,

And hurry to find your camera to click it,

And look back up, and it's gone,

Or it has changed from a smiling angel

To a demon fraught with horns.

White clouds gather and talk around the water cooler,

And before long, they've frenzied 

Themselves dark with gossip.

They rain on someone's innocent parade.

The wind blows them away,

And now a baby elephant glides in tow,

Its trunk holding hands with the tail 

Of a colossal sea horse that's adopted it.

The sky is my parade,

And no one can rain on it.

The rain itself is my confetti ticker tape.

I wave to you, prom queen style,

And hope you'll be waiting for me

After the charade,

Even if it's raining.

But things change,

So if they do,

Wait for me anyway, in the sun.

-jenn

I left my identity in a bad neighborhood 

With the keys still in it,

Trying to get someone to steal it

So I could get the insurance to pay it off.

I owed more on my identity 

Than what it was worth.

I was stuck in it

With no way to trade it in.

So I saved up enough 

To put a down payment on a new one,

(Or new to me! I'm not going to suffer 

That kind of depreciation ever again!)

And after the loan went through and

I'd made the first payment,

I let the old one go back to the finance company.

But it is I who feel I've repossessed myself!

Yes, I may have a slightly used identity,

But I can turn over the ignition with faith and pride,

With the confidence and the awareness 

Of whom I get to be true to.

-jenn

I want cinnamon too much.

I want too much cinnamon.

Someone offered me a piece of pie.

I eyed it, and pretended not to care,

But I smelled cinnamon,

And from way over here

Where my face is,

To way over there

Where your face tries to hide,

I sense the faraway twigs of cassia bark

That have collided to make each milligram of cinnamon.

I am thankful,

But greedy,

Jealous over every dash

And jot and tittle

Of cinnamon splashed out

Over the apples.

I'm needy, today.

I want cinnamon too much.

I want too much cinnamon.

-jenn

He said he loved my body and he loved my brain,

But there were some parts of me in between 

That he wasn't sure about.

"Well what else is there?" I wanted to say.

But I've always figured,

If I want to show my ignorance,

There are other ways.

So I try not to ask stupid questions,

And I try not to say anything at all

During occasions that seem ambiguous as quicksand,

And that leave their outcomes

Hanging there like laundry,

Reminding him of his mother.

-jenn

I feel close to you today.

Maybe it's the humidity.

I feel like I belong to you.

Maybe it's not true,

But I like the way it feels.

My hair's a mess from wind and rain and age.

I'm an on-looker at an on-coming train,

And if I decide to board the platform here,

I'll go away to who knows where.

But I'll show up there

With rumpled dress and tangled hair,

Just like the day I arrived at the nursery,

And my father said he saw me

And wondered what I was.

And I've been born again 

And again and again,

And I'm always the same,

Just a mousy, tousled bit

Of face and mane,

Looking for a home.

-jenn

I think you are drawn to me

Because I have dark hollows,

Deep places that are terrifying,

And you like scary movies.

You long to run, like a character,

A werewolf searching out the moon,

Caught in a dark place longing for the light,

Yet like a vampire, longing to hide from it too.

Run! Run through me! Howl the whole night through

In my dark hollows. Leave your deep footprints

In my muddy creek beds and your scratches on my trees,

To count the times, to count the ways 

You love me.

-jenn

I don't take to this.

Like a fish out of water,

I'm out of my element.

I awake on Jupiter 

And cannot breathe

Whatever this is that they call air.

I'd like to be above it all

Like you are, Sir,

But I'm not from here.

It's easy for you to say

What happy people do and don't,

But I'm on a basic level.

It's not a want I crave.

It's a need.

I've got to have a little oxygen 

In my atmosphere,

And I've got to have something 

I can translate as love 

In my iron-poor blood.

Maybe after that, 

We can have some of what you call coffee,

And then, you can criticize my attitude

While I sip it, and think about how to get home.

-jenn 

I have a very bad reason 

For wanting to tell you hello,

So maybe I'll just sit here

And pretend to say no

To all the ideas that come knocking 

At my brain.

I'll say goodbye to all the 

Passing flights of fancy.

I'll put my nose up in the air

At the whimsical way in which

Whimsy comes to call,

And I won't have any thoughts at all

(Or poems).

But what do you know?

I see you coming up

To say hello to me.

I bet you have a very bad reason.

-jenn