Red

What is red?

Red is a color
that never gets duller
than bricks.
Red is a color
that really ticks.  

Red as strawberries
sitting in a patch.
Red as a ball
you have to catch.  
Some people’s hair is red
sitting on their head.
Sometimes the sky is red at night.
Blood is red.
Red is a color that gives a fright.  

What is red?  

~ Mk Michaels, 1972

 

The Battle to Heal

A part of me has been blow away

I lie in the battlefield

Explosions sounding round my head.

I’ve lost a lot of blood and…

I may not make it

 

What hit me anyway?

I wasn’t paying attention.

Did you see?

Do you see the part of me missing?

 

Mirrored in your face,

I see how awful I must look.

Mangled, mutilated

You are frightened by what you see

and your fear frightens me

I must be hit badly

 

Call the doctor, the priest

my mother…

For if I do not survive

I want not to be alone on this battlefield.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 1991

 

Innocence Lost

In this our world,
innocence is bruised, fondled
destroyed.
In the face of trust and belief
Toads grunt and grasp and thrust.

In this our world,

There are silence, secrets
shame.
Our children are taken
Locked away by the patriarchy

In this our world,

we are lied to, if we believe
and threatened if we do not
Shhh…don’t tell – it didn’t happen.
If you tell, you will die.

In this our world,

I told…..

and, it seems, I am dying.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 1991

 

A Thank You Note to Your Last Lover

 

 

Dear person of ex-significance,

 

I am writing to thank you for your inability

to see the incredible parts of my lover.

Thank you for being insufficient, fearful, and broken.

Words can hardly express how happy I am that

you failed miserably,

although I am sorry she had to hurt because of you.

 

To be clear, I don’t think you are a bad person.

I’m sure you are decent enough,

but you just couldn’t commit,

at least not in the way she needed you to.

 

She is special, this one.

She’s like no one I’ve ever known.

With her chickens, gardens, and quirky sense of humor

and her shoulders, freckled from the sun,

her smile that could light a room,

and words that bring me to  my knees.

She’s a mother, through and through,

loving children from many other mothers,
hers and mine in particular.

It is her greatest calling in life,

although loving me is a very close second.

 

Thank you, again.

I am glad you left

so I could find her

and make her mine.

 

I’ll tell you a secret, though.

I am not supposed to say this,

Because I haven’t even told her yet,

but I am going to marry her.

I see the ‘yes’ in her eyes.

It’s been there for quite some time now,

much in the same way the question has been

poised on my lips

ready to take a head first and fearless dive

into eternity.

 

Sincerely,

 

Her present and future

 

~ Mk Michaels

 
This poem has appeared on elephant journal:

 http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/12/a-thank-you-note-to-your-ex-lover-poem/

 

 

 

 

A Migrating Monarch

 

 

Monarchs migrate

Alone

Their perceived numbers masking

their solitude

The appearance of safety in the masses

A meandering path toward warmth

 

I migrate

Alone

Knowing I must make this journey apart

My children masking

my solitude

The appearance of safety in our familial numbers

I meander toward warmth again

 

We journey in parallel

migrating toward our end

The means within each

to the end we seek

 

Finding nourishment

Along the way

Nectar here,

Milkweed there

Sometimes in short supply

But enough

Just enough

 

Fragile, delicate, determined

A life force which will not be denied

urging us on

Toward our destiny

Our evolution

Metamorphosis

 

Dodging mountains

Struggling against conspiring winds that would blow us off course

Fleeing predators on the perilous journey

 

The journey, although treacherous,

is required

for ultimate survival

To remain behind,

a certain death.

 

So we journey, the monarch and me.

Onward and forward

Looking behind only to gauge our progression

 

The instinct to survive

is strong.

Stronger than my grief

Stronger than my pain

Stronger than you

 

You are predatory.

An oriole or grosbeak

This monarch has evaded

you and

your hunt.

 

Comes the spring and

a new journey

begins.

 

~ Mk MIchaels, 2007

Fear of Death

Humbly dedicated to the talented Ms. Houston with an appreciative nod to Sir Frances Bacon.

The way we judge the dead

is harsh, unrelenting,

and oh so pious.

 

“She lived too fast,

She played too hard,

She lived her life out of control.

Her death was inevitable.

A tragedy, but not a surprise

Tut, tut

Tsk tsk…”

 

Really?  Really?!?

 

This deep seated need to judge

from our glass houses,

and cast stones at corpses

is not about them,

rather it is about us…

 

The old joke goes,

the only certainties in life are

death and taxes

and we all laugh uncomfortably.

But we laugh

We laugh at death,

pushing it just a bit further away from us.

 

Who among us, I ask you, will not die?

Not me.

Not you.

Or you.

Or you.

 

Could we, then, in the time we have  here,

be kinder to the dead

and let the lessons of their lives simply be?

Leave their families to their grief

without the added burden of our

fears voiced in the form

of vilification and verdicts about their loved ones?

 

Instead, could we, perhaps,

make the most of our summers,

swinging on fragrant willow boughs,

leaping fearlessly into the lake, and

gorging ourselves on life’s bounty

so that maybe, just maybe,

we’ll fear death a little less

and let the dead 

Simply

Be

allowing them to rest

in the cradle of our peace.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 2012

 

Raw

 

it has been eight months since you died and

yet i am just now becoming pink, tender, new flesh

raw

i stayed very busy for a long time

honoring you by opening the windows to let light and air in

bringing happy back into a place of great sadness

helping our children say goodbye to their home with you

and welcoming them into my home full time

being that mom,

participating, supporting, and showing up

until a bone crunching fatigue made me slow down

and sit still

allowing my feelings to catch up

i am small, vulnerable, deeply sad

it takes so little to cause pain anew

raw

but i am not afraid of being consumed by this

rather i take it in stride

i trust the process

i trust time

i trust me

so i go with it

and let the feelings flow through me

i have a new love

i imagine you know this

i want to believe you do

and are glad for me

even this happy renders me

raw

but in a different way

exposed, vulnerable

but safe

new or not

the feelings run very deep

they have since the beginning

there is no explanation for this

so i go with it

and let the feelings flow through me

i ponder the irony of utter happiness in contrast with deep sadness

and conclude that life should

afford us great joy in the face of great sorrow

happy can coexist with

raw

why not

so i go with it

and let the feelings flow through me

looking back
what was prepared me for today

and what is today

will prepare me for what is coming
it always works out that way

i have exactly what i need

at the right time
in the right place

so i go with it

and let the feelings flow through me

even if i am

raw

~ Mk Michaels 

Invisible

In looking through me to see my children,

as if I were a picture window,

it is forgotten that my belly was

their first home.

Bulging,

beautiful,

the center of the universe.
Anticipation made flesh.

Childbirth changed everything,

as it should.

The focus shifted

to the living, breathing

embodiment of a family conceived.

Birthdays

anniversaries

divorce

more birthdays

graduation

and still more birthdays

The speed of life.

Upon her death,

as with the children she and I shared,

a part of me died,

too.

I live this every day.

There is no escaping.

Our respective anesthesias help

   computer games

   YouTube

   friends

   binge watching television

   a garden

   writing

Although we go days, weeks even,

without mention,

her death is our constant companion.

These days, I understand Horton’s Whos down in Whoville

We are here! We are here! We are here!

I am here,

the last mother standing.

I am here,

even when grief knocks me to my knees.

I am here;

You can call me Mrs. Cellophane.

~ Mk Michaels, 2014