What’s a father for?—when the Three Blue Faeries—Terra, Stella, and Luna—take the Three Sisters away, deep into the Blue Forest.
What’s a father for?
Father taught me how to roar, blind-red punch hand through glass to make him understand the end of victim.
What’s a father for when he will not rescue the taken, and instead pops a cold can of Budweiser.
What’s a father for when S(he) never sees him because S(he) has built a wall to hide from father.
A broken shard, a mirror reflecting blinding light, S(he) caught her reflection and said, “Monster.”
S(he) swallowed the jagged, broken-self, without crunching on matter.
There is a schism in the sangha, ancestral witches curse the reborn S(he) after the father’s body lies lifeless on white hospice bed sheets, cold; no more morphine dripdrip; there is a tear in the left eye before Goodbye.
S(he) prays for another year. Grandmother waits, leaves when the year is up.
S(he) speaks from ash, sees through bones, into marrow infusing an antidote to memory.
S(he) forgets blue, plays the sound instead.
S(he) could not feel one loss after another, two years, father and Grandmother gone. On the day the butterfly flurry flew to heaven, S(he) could not speak, could not feel, the cold dark pit of a stomach called out, but no one came. Though she could see dancing rainbow light, a lasting piece of Grandmother, S(he) could not see, blind, she became.
(S)he turns the light lavender key against sky blues and escapes underground green tunnel.
What is a father for?—when S(he) was loved unconditionally by True Love. A baby blue breath. S(he) woke in his arms for years after wrapping her thick dark red knuckle bones, too young to care for True Love. S(he) only knew how to make it bleed, crimson ooze out of holes, hers and his. S(he) could not see the light well S(he) fell into long before fallen father. S(he) told True Love stories. S(he) cried, too much.
True Love stopped listening, even when it asked for her hand in marriage.
Promises are meant to be broken.
They didn’t erase difference, they embraced with holey hearts; loved like no other love. There are no others. With infant eyes, S(he) cannot see difference; just more, possessed to evolve wanting, more, suck the marrow, spit and repeat.
Suck the marrow, spit.
S(he) couldn’t see: a poisoned womb, black hole filled with dust, dried blood, no love orphan. Love-child-hood play means pretend; not knowing how to see tree limbs ablaze, nipples strung by wires to connect blue veins.
Ran to the trees, to the ocean
“to build a home”
“A person is not a home.”
She hid behind a Redwood curtain, S(he) followed the Kinetic Sculpture Race to Cannibal Island. S(he) wasn’t looking, didn’t look back. S(he) found a Lover and named a found puppy “Bello.” S(he) thought, a way to sever the knot jammed down her throat—the way out of the desert to the trees.
Inside the Cave of Lover, S(he)crawled on hands, knees, sore from too many falls. Inside, S(he) came closer to the pain, to its relief.
The pelvis lifts up, to push out… nightmares, (S)he pleads:
(yet we can barely make out the sound—sometimes there is no sound).
(S)he desires to harm because (S)he hurts.
The switch from lover to monster came easy.
(S)he asked where the anger lies—the sleeping giant, a dormant temper-tantrum-child.
(S)he, on all fours, beat the ground with rolled fists, scraped knuckle bones bare.
(S)he wants to be inside
Even if it hurts
Once inside, S(he) only saw red, black-out lights, the glow from the ceiling of stars and extra-terrestrials grew dim, the faint noise roared back once S(he) saw Lover cower, cover his face, as if to protect love from a bloody nose, a black eye.
S(he) moved her body over Lover, reached into the dark chamber throat, freeing speech, opening the flood gates by severing the knot inside the throat with the pointed edge of the mirror. S(he) could see his internal bruising headache after the repeated blows her fist commands.
Mold speckled walls S(he) and Lover scrubbed together grew dark as they sneezed cat and dog coats to wear that winter.
Blues eyes, sky light, blue as night, as truth floods hazel field, finger tips and toes blue, lips and teeth stained blueberry. (S)he, the Three Sisters, three b-flat clarinetists, finger-tongue scat-scat-scattered memories. (S)he’s a Drummer, a Dancer, it’s a Danger to forget they are blue underneath light-olive, creamy-pink, and summer sun soaked skin.
What’s a father for?
When there is no rescue.
When the Blue Fairies take the three daughters of father away deep into the Blue Forest, S(he) wanders the forest in search, picking up pieces, ash, bone, feathers, wood, to find a way to re-mind father—to conjure his spirit into the life force of another.
The blue light lured her inside the teepee Summer Solstice ceremony. Star lights danced as Fire Man’s limb broke in the smoky fireplace. Fire Man stared straight into her and said, “Leave then.” They could not keep her inside. The wind howled at the white canvas teepee. Internal flames and drumsongs kept her safe. The Road Man draws in the sand, charcoal and blessings with feather, song, smoke in the water. The tribe inhales cedar, healing together, singing, purging the ego one by one to be one, the medicine gathered and called the demons out.
The Door Man says, “You’re getting well, don’t be sorry Sister.”
The Cedar Man indicates more medicine; “We need more to drown the system, flood the gates, draw the animal form and dance—is necessarily life.” The fire waves, an ocean of forgiveness and the monster roars to life, swirls to the tip top of teepee, released into the black-star-light night, the moon shadows, waves
fare-thee-well, onto mountain lands, you will find a family.
she stares into the fire.
Hears the Moon howl:
Fire is not a Liar, the Poker too hot, a court Jester, too cool blood boils a neck noose Choker.
Air, bare, stare into the void, sitting, breath floods the body.
Dancing-twirling-flailing aerial cocoon twists under moonlight.
Morning blue sky, no clouds, green thin forest, snow caps off in the distance; she can still hear the bird song.
“The songs will come to you, the medicine will always be with you.”
At day break, they all say, “Thank you for sitting up.”
she holds the broken mirror up to the sun, the light reflects her eyes, she can see, cannot rid herself of the pinky-red-orange-yellow-golden-green-blue-lavender light that has taken her vision.
she cannot hold the sight in her hands for long.