Tag Archives: siblings


There are still stacks of opened boxes, the windows still uncovered,

but I feel somewhat safe, being back from the road, and behind a

row of thick trees.

Just a couch and my laptop, and the plastic, toy horses my kid sister

played with when she was little, before the demons started an endless

war in her head.

I sit Indian style in front of them on the floor, hardwood against my bare

ankles, playing with them, trying to make stories and find the right childlike

spell that will make her whole again.

My kid sister, not a kid, now a woman, sleeps upstairs, still plagued by bad

dreams even then. The demons don’t let her be. I can’t call down the angels,

and I doubt God saying doesn’t forsake us.

I put on puppet shows for her, about King Arthur and Guinevere fighting Satan,

and make up ballads of Archangel Michael fighting Satan, casting him out forever,

giving her hope her ware can be won.

At night she’ll sometimes sit outside on the back patio, even as winter comes,

in her nightshirt and jammie bottoms, listening to melancholy hymns on her

headphones. Even with God, this world is bittersweet.

I remember, when she was little, I was her favorite brother, and she followed me

like an angelic familiar, like the hope of a new morning even after a long dark night,

and I remember playing with the horses she so loved.

And she could make me see, in my older and lazy third eye, that we were riders on

the steppes and on the plains and the ancient mountains, priests and warriors in the

world so resigned to evil.

And I try to call that magic now, re-open my third eye so I can make my way to the battle,

so doesn’t have to fight alone, so she can be happy and wild yet again, be Michael chasing

Satan out forever, so she can be Gabriel, telling the world what it needs to hear.

From The Other Side Of The Ocean

Out in the desert, on the way to Los Angelas, on a family trip.
Tired from riding all day, down from the green, cold mountains
into the sparse and bright desert, the reptiles and snakes around.
It was almost sundown, the sunlight melting away, and the night
coming down, and with it cold, cold I’d fought I’d left back home.
I never knew it got cold in the desert.
You, little sis, all awkward sharp edges and mussed hair, stood
on the edge of the railing of the pull off, looking west, to the sea,
to city shining like a golden bowl in the distance, incense to be offered.
You were growing, and I was almost grown, and it wasn’t easy anymore,
like when we were young and would play together, knew our world better.
I would be leaving soon for college. You would be going to junior high.
In the fading light, the velvety and gauzy sunset still lingering, I took a picture.
It would capture you, hugging your self, the wind fluttering that wild mop of hair,
the eyes so sad, the beginning of you calling the angels to hold you.
You heard the camera click, and turned to me, an odd look in your eyes,
both tender and distant, as if trying to call out my name from the other side
of the ocean, as if to pull me to you, locked away in the sun.
I put my arm around you, and you buried your face in my side, and it felt
calm and holy, like silence was a true hymn and speaking an unforgivable
It was the last holy moment for us, for so, so very long.

Florida Rust

Rust colored hair whipping against a rust colored sky.
The beach is just ahead. We’re almost there. Amost free.

Cold grey water, the color of steel, endless out before us.
Songs unheard for so long stir in our ears, our broken hearts.

 The spell is fading as we walk into the water, legs to tails.
Dive into the water, swim back home, back to those we love.
 Let the ones who took us never find us. Let us be free forevermore.
Our mother’s kingdom is right before us, but it will never be the same.