travail, the mother

She brings cake
when everyone else brings plastic spoons
She has rain boots
all the others squish and track
She turns the light off
 when she leaves, she takes out the trash
       Where would we be
       without her?
The living incarnation of Parvati
    the goddess who rides a tiger
 holding a mirror and some kind of blissful tools
      looking to do some good.
Look around you
    you can catch a glimpse
 on the bus or in a classroom
        of her ordinary majesty
 perhaps you knew her
          as a child.

Noble Strength

 I guess this is it.
         You would be
     suffused with relief if
 you thought about it at all
         a tiny sunset

       through the prism of
         your indifference
you see people as they are
    not how they want themselves
           to be.

At best, a moment of nostalgia
     combined with the look
           you give a hired cook
when the party is over...

       I guess this is it,
pointing to your nonexistent faults
      would make it hurt less
  though it shouldn't even scratch
         or bruise

  There are vessels to be made
        and places to go
         people to fall in love with
  playful romps across the furniture
         
        me too, me too

eye phone

when you see some
ordinary thing, that
  makes you want to sing,
like the shadows of parking
meters dancing in the
   streetlights
faces staring out
  from dried weeds
 in the sidewalk
  the hundreds of floating
        candles in the
   sky,
     this means you have
 a human soul
       and no part can be
            bought or sold
and no machine can understand
         the freckles on your face
      or the wrinkles in your hands.