At the dentist

This morning

at the dentist

i was filling out a health questionnaire

and writing the word

goldenseal. 


How lovely to see half of it 

emerge from the pen in a near mirror 

of your handwriting. 

Language moves the body, 

in the body, 

is the body. 


Your writing, 

and dad's, 

lives quietly in my muscles. 



Love you!

© e. e. stanley 11/26/2013

MAYDAY MAYDAY... WE MIGHT CRASH THE SHIP

what is the quality of object
that helps one take care with
the course plotted
M. is lodestone or compass
or simply true North
what quality? that helps me
steer myself and not dash this
boat this body on the rocks of
the shallows
she is no object, my person
my love   my beloved
strong and stubborn, ridiculously
practical    emphatically

© Erika Stanley 5.1.14

building new symmetries

the phase of bodies   phrases
caught in a net of moments
in a moment i knew
i loved Claire
but boundless
the ephemera of intimacy
choosing again again again
one two three
in our bodies
my every edge stood alight
light spilling over curve
and sinew the fullness
of bellies stretching uncertain
we bend and kneel to the task
strong   interrupted
cutting our sequences short
circling in tender focused
repose to recompense

© Erika Stanley 1.22.14

lights never seen

gun lake cold and twinkling
new stars older than the
imagination of millennia
our constellation taking shape
around a beautiful tall boy
tender connecting with eyes
closed    feet aching    sides stitched
double and dancing and meeting
and dancing and meeting and dancing
until the night is full of train
sounds again and the surface
of the sky quietly unfolds
to share lights never seen before

© Erika Stanley 11.20.13

new shorn beauty

a morning breathing together
to move this body again
balance and rest
muscle    smell    sinew    reach
quiet
the floaters in my eyes danced
with raindrops on the skylight

© Erika Stanley 11.18.13

opossum funeral

in the garden late the other night
Henry's neck fur stood up
barely a moment of hesitation
in the darkness before charging
against some unknown trespasser
then the motion lights
flooding the yard like thunder
after the frozen scene of
a lightning strike
his shape outlined among the shadows
something in his jaw
unrelenting against my calls
the jet of the hose shot all the
way across the yard

© Erika Stanley 9.03.13

what feeds you

'the food is not even a factor. you have to decide what feeds you before you ever share a meal.' - B.

i'm not hungry   the snack provided
a distraction   the sound of
crunching loud enough to scatter
my thoughts briefly before
i try to collect them again
something to bite into
savory... savor
the ginger ale is not what i
want to drink   too sweet
bubbles wreaking havoc in my gut
but it's in front of me
B. said never settle for the
acceptable stand in
how awful that sounds
to take 'settling for' in on such
a fundamental level
i am hungry
for the press of flesh
toothy conversations
a heady swirl of energy cycling
i am deeply thirsty
for kisses & clear signals
desire like stars shooting across
a dark sky
silence that holds room for
shared breathing & the promise
of more kisses & conversations
i want to be penetrated
to penetrate
with eyes & hands & mouths
& words & breath &
cock & cunt & longing joined
met by connection by another
bright spark singing &
dancing ready to play

© Erika Stanley 8.26.13

Full of Empty of Full

what can i imagine of a life
that isn't the one i'm flying home to
only a kitchen table
light through an unfamiliar set 
of curtains
mathematics of unraveling
what numbers do the words
'i am done' call up
a deep breath
B. holds me near & reminds me
be gentle - you're the only sister i have
unfolding muffled truth
dusting off clarifying questions
narrate actions, live subtitles
so that my signals    my intentions
carry clear out over the canyon
& reverberate back again
like a bell
a sound of resonance
the sound of compassionate truth
unconditional
-   -   -
we avoid small positive gambles
to our detriment - because we are 
loss averse. you win some. you lose some.
the sense of loss looms larger 
stings more even than doubled gains
my big losses are old
rare events over-weighted
i need to let go of my life
as it is now    with both hands
so that i can greet the 
garden unfolding around me
life beyond the wall & the question mark
the force field retracted
this was a net positive
this was a winning proposition
to talk about cutting losses
without her feels gross though.
but to consider it together 
feels like something i'd like to do
what am i talking about anymore
concentration destroyed by a simple
means of address   Gents... something to drink?

© Erika Stanley 8.26.13

Tender

what courage & trust to launch our
bodies upside down
hands planted    legs kicking swift
floating up    reaching stillness
the flows of our lymph reversed
blood pouring into the head
i seek it over & over
a moment of quiet as my ears
fill with my pulse the fullness
of my heart blanketing the
chatter of the mind    completely
briefly

how can tears move first against
gravity    welling up & up
before spilling over the edge of
surface tension    of propriety
of our fight to hold them back
to keep the scales of daily life
in place    obscuring the prospect
of seeing of being seen
i let them out early with you
no guise    no stop on my candor
so many tender places
at the surface the silent scream    a memory of
keening    unfolding    opening
as i watch bamboo shadows
redraw your face in each moment

© Erika Stanley 8.22.13

the most important person in the house

our choices now come at a rapid fire clip
scrolling through endless libraries of chaff to find the wheat
and this prompts a million tiny decisions
no wonder we are soul-fatgiued
show our taste - our choices
arrange the stream into a particular shape
(not our shape)
the pieces that fit the template
(not our pieces.
we didn't make those)
no creation in this house of cards
the walnut shell game
guess which one hides the good thing
the pea, if chosen, which makes you wiser, more discriminating, better dressed, more interesting intellectual pretty happy funny disaffected
all this is happening under the careful watch of marketing minds
more brains or one brain doesn't really make much difference
look who's telling you they're the most important person in the house
so when i judge myself harshly
fail to use my tools of madness in unexpectedly authentic ways
who says whether i walk the plank
who cares when i have already chosen the long drink of the sea

© e. e. stanley 6/22/12

heart leaf philodendron

sobs slowly subsiding i looked up from my nest to note
the newest leaves of our philodendron catching quiet western light

even in this cramped room they continue to push up unfurl shining
verdant until they join the others less tender that stretch far
from the terracotta base supported on long elegant stems
reaching but still connected
even those leaves that have long since faded
hand down rough kneed scars at intervals

i thought of our hearts branching connected memory
of them growing still close at hand we are all wedded
at the roots even as we split crack wither fall away
it takes the dying leaves a long time to let go
i often help them along pruning out the old and fragile
how is it i cannot do the same with memories of lovers
why should i keep returning to what i have undeniably lost
walking the cities the endless buildings in my dreams only to find
myself at the same closed door over and again
catching old ghosts beside me as leaves on a near branch
stitching together memories snippets fragments of a face
a few handwritten words tucked into a book a whisper of smell

today it broke me open to realize i have yet to give thanks
to bathe luxuriate find release in the grace of gratitude
how lucky am i to have loved those splendid creatures
we are all rising from the dirt spreading open and falling away
even when it is truly finished there is no real separation
if this is not true i must concede that i have gone mad
that eleven times the length of our love should pass but i still yearn and dream of her
or the length of all our knowing has gone on again and i just miss him

20/2/12+27/3/12 © e. e. stanley

train to vancouver

drizzle grey spring green punctuated by
scotch broom and the train whistle
we pass mountains of blackberry
over the swollen columbia river


i started crying when i realized a decade has passed
since today
when you and i rode trains in italy
walked miles of cobblestones the night of your birthday
tomorrow you are 10 years older
one third of your life completed since our last adventures


i miss you deeply
this train rolling and bringing forth memories of your face
round with too much pasta
glowing with enjoyment
sharing the country you'd been discovering 
for six months prior to our arrival


© e. e. stanley 5/31/2011, for b.a.s.

babies. a consolation prize

again we come back to the body
the pungent scent of daphne sneaking out like some coda to this evening
from between pages where i pressed it weeks ago
tonight it is my body that i'm called to consider
my habitation my identity the cultural markers which reinforce and
confound my own experience of that strange sack of ectoplasm
drag for our spirit
(note to self - re-read Vonnegut story about being amphibious)

the waiter tonight gave us all babies
a consolation prize for having come up empty handed after the king cake massacre
as we savored bits of hazelnut toffee and chicory ice cream
we talked about breast and babies and careers and straight couples
i thought about what it is to me to be a woman
mother
though that road may be un-passable someday i tried to follow it
not just as a function of my sense of womanhood but as a desired state of being
now - three years after my divorce from the man and lover i married 
solely for the premise of creating a family together someday
nearly four years into a partnership with house and dog and life insurance
with a person committed to remaining child free -
i see that window may not be open when i finally find myself
ready to climb through

then i thought... breasts.
a functional attribute of mothering
while i am grateful for the unlikelihood that i should have to face breast cancer -
not one of the cancer threats, it seems, for my people -
i imagine what the implications of that might be
would i choose radical double mastectomy?
reconstruct with plastic bags of ocean sloshing on my chest?
my relationship to my breasts remains contentious
i would love them more if they were detachable
when dallas said "nice tits", as i changed between numbers at a performance, i told him that 
"would that they were detachable..."
"why?" he asked in disbelief 
and my reply, without much consideration - "they don't always go with the outfit."
so what would i be without them
more my father's daughter slim hips strong jaw and most myself when i remain ambiguous
my breasts are the buoy of my claim to womanhood
alongside my bleeding cunt they are the lifeline to recognition and 
the betrayal against my lithe un-gendered question mark

the mark that fits my body beautifully
the big round head
flamboyant gesture swooping back to center
narrow hips and slight concave where others might flaunt convex
then the punctum
secret small center my clit hidden tiny 
in comparison to every other part of my symbology
that miniscule convention of nerve endings and fragile skin
cannot announce my femininity
though it is strikingly feminine
it bears witness quietly while my cunt builds up walls and washes them away
my womb often heavy with that task on the days
i am most consistently referred to as "sir"
aching tits happy and bleeding
as the public makes at least polite reference to
the puzzle of me
the man who feel to earth
my mother's and grandmothers' first girl
the first child, period, of the two eldest children
beautiful healthy strong the observer
soaking up the wonder of this life

so what is it that makes me say woman female mama daughter tia
when i am so happily known as mr. e
it's the swing of my hips, the fullness of my lips,
the shine of my hair and when you touch me... just there
it's how i can open to take all of this in without breaking
it's the way i love and create and destroy
in my willingness and persistence in attending to all three
it is my comfort in my skin even if there are times i would like 
nothing more than to inhabit someone else's for the hour or the evening
in the evenings, like tonight, after joy and revelry,
it is my willingness to sit quietly
as i try to give birth to something i can hold up in the light
in front of all of you
breathe into it and make it sing

© e. e. stanley 2/15/2010

dance. lingual.

variations in masculinity

overwhelmed the senses

bodies moving isolations blips and explosions

surreally independent revolutions of each section

head shoulders chest hips knees wavering through

space

this animated architecture

parts leading in improbable directions

counterintuitive

floating... slowed... down

broken satellites challenging each other reacting responding

sometimes one body approached another

begging - be flexible - only to be thrown

back to the floor mightily

all at once i thought of julia child

flipping the potato pancake

to have the courage of one's convictions

trusting that as one's head leads

backwards

to the floor knees buckling

the soft part of a thigh will be just there

at the crook of the neck

just at the right moment

when the cable of light came loose from the edge of the stage

snaking its way around the floor

bullwhipped each time a body scuffed over it

anticipation rose setting our teeth on edge

waiting for how some disaster might play out

that winding strand of glow became the punctuation

in every move thereafter

dancers continued effortlessly

missing the cord - even running backwards full tilt

helicopter flips thrown bodies propelled

into brief flight

© e. e. stanley 2/6/2010

not original

turned the corner

past a window of one of the run down garden apartments

into breeze

sharp tinged like cooked carrots and mildew

this idea is not original

that the surface can remain still

and the view, beautiful

no indication of the inverse mountain

of grief quietly drifting below

last night's dream of S.

dislodged some piece worn thin

fracturing off even after years

gone since our varying goodbyes

the splash of its surfacing

welling up as i drove us to work

but not spilling over

© e e stanley 2010(?)