the whirling derviches.

somedays it's the whirling derviches inside my solar plexus,

inside my breast cavity

trying to make their way to my heart.

what are they doing here, again? 

what do they want from me? 


what nourishes them? 

are they hungry for my love? 

i breathe

i walk  

i pick up the dogs poop and i can feel the high

the gold temple

the torquoise eyeliner

thick on the edge of the eylid like all the poems i love

their bare feet like gorgeously worn rugs in every bathroom of the house

so many stories inside their soles

as they turn and turn and turn. 


in the distance

i can feel a tenderness at the bottom

maybe it's the low belly or even lower 

maybe it's the body below the body

it is never going to make sense

like a mother on fire

like an old story in my back pocket

to be seen is sacred terrain.


it is just a thursday in south pasadena

i am so high from this mint tea i didn't drink in Turkey

whirling like a crazy person

is it a prayer for sadness?

an offering of courage?

is it a shaking into remembering?

to soften the to do list.


i would rather hide

share the beauty from this corner

be found by the hungry ones

dug up by those who want 

someone who happens to be in the neighborhood.


i am whirling and courage is in the bougainvillea today

it is 8:22 am and i wasn't expecting visitors

the white jasmine lines the sidewalk

i see the sticky rosemary

i have to roast that chicken

that will save me