This is me learning to twitter.

http://twitter.com/OJandRooftops
http://twitter.com/amyleighcutler

Don't judge me. I do what I want.

Funny how words pile up and make mountains behind you
Now I'm climbing high through dates and old words
that read like they were written yesterday.
Editing is a time traveler's task
and I'm back in last year, and the year before that.
Another one is coming. Feel the plates shifting
water rising.
All this will be covered in eyes and one day
my fingers will stay silent.

who walks in with fists unclenched and eyes glazed over
who is wrapped in wire metal and barbed
who moves with fire water and air and is plowed over by earth

grounded by those years that came and went
and come back up broken glass and battery acid
tearing the stomach
eyes tearing from the stench

held onto in smallness
and smaller still
and still

what is a heart and how long are we here
what keeps us together like fish hooks in our stomachs
wobbly steps and years of watching
who were we to keep what was never ours

Body heavy with the hopes and hauntings of the world around me,
hips move slow.

I rise, stretch out this long limber spine,
and walk into the kitchen

dripping with
loves
fears
insecurities
that are not mine.
My body is porous
as a sponge from the sea,
eyes are chalices filled with
hope,
wonder,
freedom;
a darkness
that is mine.
Overflowing.
My head is anointed,
generous shining palms reaching
straight through the sky.
I have held onto nothing;
and I've never gone hungry.
I do not own
the butterflies in my cage of ribs,
the music in my tired feet,
the bells that fall from my mouth when I laugh.
This body is a vessel
always filled with
the water around me,
the ground beneath me,
pressed into by the sky above.

I open my cabinets,
empty.

Bank account
empty.

Body full eyes overflowing feet moving lips parted taking in with palms stretched upwards this city these streets these faces these longings these strangers fill me with familiar questions

I close the cabinets and settle into Saturday.

Another day
I do not own.
Body heavy
heart with wings
all things borrowed
all things borrowed.

I'm home where the air is cold and the ground is hard.
I've got my spattered tibetan painting hanging above the bed
and nag champa burning in my aloe plant.
not like the mountain aloe that burns red in the west.
but this is home just the same.
this harlem haven with cherry wood floors
and a baby singing in the room right next to mine.
i miss the warm of romo street and the fire pit
once the baby's asleep.
life is springing up out of eucalyptus trees
and running in electric shocks under out metropolis.
my impulses cross synapses and i wake up under
the orange tree out back.
nerve endings are feeling the cold.
no numbness here. home is where the air is cold,
and family is where the grasslands stretch on forever.

Cardamom, turmeric, licorice, ginger goot
We chop up eggplant, yellow squash, zucchini, and yams.
Throw in okra, peppercorns, bell peppers, sea salt.
We play with our food and coat it with spices
and we pour the whole rubix rainbow on a tenderloin of pork.
Let it bake, let it roast, let the steam fill the kitchen;
and the rice simmers besides.
Tell me more about Ayurvedan healing and why tumeric keeps you young.
I hear that voice from across the oceans when she says it;
he told me it would keep me well until the stars burst in the sky.
We sit and eat our meal, and mm and feed the baby
his own mix up of sweet potatoes and barley and juice from the pork.
He mm's and he giggles and throws handfuls of rice confetti.
I feel fluttering slow to a murmur and warmth fill me where I'm tired.
The sun has set in Lemon Grove. The curtains are drawn, and the kitchen light
is dim on the din of our clinking forks and knives.

I'm going back to California. Back where the air is gentle and the sky is blue. I'm going to see the woman with prayer flags on her porch and paint always on her fingers. We'll take it easy I think. Sit outside in the morning with our coffee and stories and this time the baby will be with us. Well hold him or set him in the hammock while we talk, and his presence will only make our conversation sweeter. I'm looking forward to working in the garden and making dinner together. Catching up and learning from the stories as they are told. Things always sound different when you say them out loud. It's been a bitter cold winter, and my bones are weary. I'm going where grapes grow out front and the wine from them is served with dinner. I'm going where my family is out west and growing as I write this.