Add it to the List

Add it to the list;
cupcakes won't save you from your
inadequacy.

1/20/12

Blackout in Protest

Blackout in Protest.
Google mobilizes You,
Netizen revolt.

01/19/12

Rat Race

I tire of the rat...
a-tat-tat... pacing this race,
the walls of this place.

01/18/12

Many Winter Days

Many winter days
I find to be long and cold -
warm nights make them fold.

01/17/12

Elizabeth Pool

Elizabeth Pool
leaves People's Light and with her
takes the Internet.

01/16/12

Sunday Comes Again

Cold with strict demands:
Here, here, here. The list goes on.
Errands make me mad.

01/15/12

Pig Iron Schooling

Warm up with a Balkan hymn,
step into the harmony,
an open canvas.

01/14/12

Performance Anxiety

Little tentacles
Creeping up the vertebrae:
"It's not them, it's you."

01/13/12

Gallery of One

A gallery of
Self gratification lacks
Imagination.

01/12/12

Hamlet Must Have Started Here

Talking, talking, talk.
To do or not: infinite.
Impossible play.

01/11/12

Quinn

Invisibility cloak
so awesome, how can you not see
what's already there?

01/10/12

Reincarnate

Forty trillionths down
a secret; a tunnel; spit
Forty matches lit.

01/09/12

Sunday

A day of rest, ha.
I am no barefoot housewife,
I wear hiking shoes.

01/07/12

Foley Dragon

This story begins:
A lonely egg cracks open.
Ends a dragon home.

01/06/12

Color Wheel

Absorb and go;
Red lounge singer, God is blue;
Yellow Wombats cheer.

01/05/12

Scientists Create Invisibility Cloak

An event hidden;
Cloaked with the help of Cornell
and hypnotism.

01/04/12

If I had my way...

The play would be but
a secret; a tunnel; spit;
forty matches lit.

01/08/12

PITC

Pig Iron Theatre Workshop -
An Irish catholic schoolhouse
echoes Balkan hymns.

01/03/12

Said the Hurricane

to the Firefly:
Time will come those wings of yours
call us to dance again.

01/02/12

Write-a-day

To start, I think, perhaps
I'll try the ever popular
Haiku-a-day style.

01/01/12

Ollie

the soft nuzzle at the nape,
a nip of the hair to remind you
to look over your shoulder,
now a reminder of the sky
at the pang of surprise in
the missing playmate,
missing imprint on the pillow.

if you read this,

if you move beyond the scan and

these first three lines -

that don't meter or rhyme -

if you're reading this,

i don't mind if you,

move on.

i'd like to keep you, though.

with me for tonight.

to talk with me and drink with me

maybe hold my hand?

or walk the paths behind the theatre,

find the secret playground to

swing the swings,

test our pants for their swift,

friction against the slide.

see who can climb the highest,

exhaust ourselves with games

on the farmhouse deck

or barbeque under the

big yellow and white tent

ment for summerstage,

but which we confiscate for night.

i'd like to keep you,

to slam with me and read with me

to keep these wicked demons from

taking me.

please.

yet you never came

brunch at the frazer diner
to discuss it all
over coffee and eggs
and pancakes, scrapple and bacon
or maybe some of those just so salty sausage links.

we'll get a table, not the counter,
because there's two of us,
and we have hours to kill.

and maybe when the check has come,
we'll order some orange juice too.

homecoming

here are corsages,
wildflower bracelets,
daisy bouquets,
and pinned lapels.

there they wear single,
double, triple mums
with cowbells,

their patriotic pride
adorned in lucky rabbit feet.

sand dollar fortunes

Love,
work those hands until
they are knotted and cramped,

build sand castles with your grandmother
your sister, your lover
search out those razor clams,
sand dollar fortunes.

take that pile of mud and coil it
round, round into a pot.

your pinky, wrist, or waist

may play its mold, or base.

paint it, seal it with a star dusted glaze;
stand within an inch of the kiln as it bakes.

write yourself a love note every day,
write your child advice she'll never see;

create lists of your dreams,
blog your heartaches, and day breaks
celebrate your triumphs and trials,

look to wide open spaces,
camp under the stars,
take to the rapids,
and hike that rocky path along your soul.

archive of dreams

there is you
archive of dreams
pen to paper, blue lines filled in script
murals of words from 1992
beginning, streaming
7am till end of day
you must have woke at three
or never slept

mechanics of midsummer
playing out in your head
behind and before
your eyes
indeed
you haven't slept

you're young yet
it doesn't show in your skin
in your hair, not felt in your hips

in 1992
what makes us old
before our time
hasn't been streamlined
scanned, publicized

only script tucked away
paper files, kept hidden
reserved for exploration
later
archived dreams,
from the road:

a rose for your name
Tamika's shack
backbone spine
van ride
where secrets are spilled
broken hearts mended;
choice is always yours
even as you jump from its doors.

In the Making - 2010

Gobble, gobble

wine and dine me:

big 'ole box of wine

orange buttermilk dinner rolls,

green bean casserole,

sweet potato pie -

Run, Turkey, run.

The Glory Hole

It is as if your mind is sharpened to the razor’s edge,

senses sharp, a fine point.

You can feel the crispness of autumn on your back,

at your peripheral is, mutually,

the blue sky and orange glow of the glory hole.

Your hand knows its path

(it should it’s followed it repetitively in practice),

and is working its way up slowly, slowly

to dislodge the plastic dinosaur from the sand.

Scattered around your knees

are the remnants of imprints

that came before the dinosaur:

Barbie’s head, a corroded piece of metal,

the slinky, a piece of bark.

Pieces to be forgotten, imprints to be filled

with molten glass, cooled, then on to bake in Super Freak.


This moment is not about what you have to do,

it is not about the next keystroke,

or what is to come -

It is about the sharpness of your senses and the steadiness of your hand.

time in coming

he'll write you love

letters from the attic
before he sneaks
down the steps
to catch a glimpse
of your world
the tween sketch comedy
absorption of days,
the deepset evening sky,

its thunderous doubt,
lightening strikes
absoluteness

you'll save love

letters composed of
song lyrics,
his kiss goodnight,
and in a moment of
weakness, you'll
retract, flush it all

but between your fingers,
folded in upon itself again,
read infinitely,
behind bold eyes
cross legged on the floor
in front of that old chest -

time in coming
will circle around
itself again

Henry

Forever playmate,
Mentor to the feral grey -
Loving spirit guide.

at the mumma's

there's this frog,

sitting on a plant,

sitting in the fountain,

staring at me,

posturing,

as flower petals fall

into my coffee cup.

Gossamer Moon

rises above our converted barn,
the farmhouse roof


ignites flames
in your eyes,
marries with
the bonfire
at our feet
as voices lift;


the future of PeaceCorps, CSAs,
homegrown local circles
of communion at once
drawn in the dirt.


Only a spark,
a pencil,
those ice cream stains,
a broken heart,
a marriage,
a child,
a bit of tie line,
or recycled flat

remains
of the last story.

Tonight, though -
a child alchemist
weaves, enchants
four legged quarks
into gold.


Voices rise
as we complicate,
disintegrate, break down
into soft giggles over spilled wine.


Eons earlier a climb,
the dreamgiver's dance
up scaffolding in dreadlocked blue.


Now around the fire,
soured remnants of glitter mix
with lager, lipstick -

a virgin will sleep beneath
the ghost light tonight.

Shifting scenes dissolve between
nightmares of fourteen hour days,


her smile, ringing laughter
after the first mosquito bite of summer;


a mug of rum around the bonfire,
the excitement of the child alchemist;

a spark,

a pencil,

those ice cream stains,

a broken heart,

a marriage,

a child,

a bit of tie line,

and recycled flat;

our rising
Gossamer Moon.

QUIP

signs on the road
Horse and Buggy, right
Christ's Home Office, to the left
Paradise Pre-Owned.

~

arrival
two white, single beds
a chair. White pages turning
among these white walls.

~

alarm clock
bacon to wake you
local greens sustain the soul,
prayer for the eating.

~

on the road
resilience in peace
slips by, seven hours past:
a petrified glen.

birthday wishes

in all this desire
uncertainty
i forget
balloons in the bathtub.

images of catastrophic
proportions
dance before
i can place myself asleep.

i awake in the worst
state of mind
angry and sick
until i think

New York in the Spring -

Mimosas at the window
a Broadway show
watching the tumblings
of spies in training

leaping over benches
coffee on the lake
rock band
making my way in the rain

riding the subway
you looked deep
"We could be in love"
"For a day"

Balloons in the bathtub until then.

Sara Waxman...

is exploring LINCs of universal truth. including (but not limited to) Shakespeare, Myth, and Creation ~ don't be fooled. there are such things as dragons, you only have to look up to catch one in your palm ~ wrote the president ~ brain is slip-sliding out her ears ~ that boy can still make you swoon ~ likes pizza and beer. and terrible cop dramas. too much, in fact ~ is barefoot with a beer for her last night in the Big House ~ DO NOT EAT A HABANERO PEPPER NO MATTER WHO DARES YOU. GODDAMN ~ grilled salmon, eggplant, port mushrooms, and chilled wine + some sun = fantastic ~ i can't believe my mother is cursing on facebook ~ your past and future precisely divided. don't take another step ~ barefoot, still ~ wants nothing but the stars ~ end days, day's end, tomorrow's start ~ thinks facebook bday wishes are the best. that and balloons in the bathtub ~ is a summer thunderstorm ~ river wild, river child ~ has my fly been down this whole time?????? ~ is thinking of....

in the making

updates from 2009

New Moon

Slivered almonds,
A half pear.
A long walk
Spiced nostrils,
Fresh cut pasta
24 shrimp
and parsley.

facebook

I feel you there,
blurred around the edges.
Can you feel me here,
this patience game
I'm playing -

A swell at the base of my spine,
an act of divinity or
the dorment
beast waking
with the sunrise -

For every misstep taken
I lie in waiting,
for a time when
the hopped, mist edges
of gold fill your lungs.

When the sky alights
with fireflies,
miles away you kiss
another's misguided flame,
ask questions with no right answer;

and flit across fingertips.

A Prayer Worth Posting

Green, is
the color of envy, and
so is her jacket, so
in its folds remember, the
strength needed, by another
to match breathing, calm
your nerves to sleep, think
who would do this for you, and
who would you in return, imagine
who to care for,
sit

face

be
there for, pace
yourself until you've
mastered, the art of
digesting deception, and
well meaning intentions,
as the moon doesn't lie
and neither will dreams -

so let the green of her jacket
melt into the grass and pass
through the earth until it
is absorbed by space and
the infinite beyond.

Five Year Plan

You ask
as the ambulances pass,
What's waiting?

and I deflect,
throw back

after seeing
a broken man
lying by the
side of the road,
a strong woman
in grey uniform
standing at his side.

What's waiting?

Flashing lights to our right
to the left, no sirens yet
the tears nearly brimming
I pull back
to the river, the churning
waters of Dimple
and the flip of the raft.

What's waiting for
you is your son
awake, happy
waiting for you
waiting to walk

and instead of what's waiting
I think on what we've just left -

Two years spent
dreaming and scheming
wasted hours in
negative space -

instead
now
finally
after an eternity
the strength,
the power of
the river
churns my
day to day.

I don't want to
dream of what's waiting,
of my five year plan.

I want what I have in
the space we've just left.