Adoptive Brethren

What can I say about Stephen? He’s always there, always at the periphery of my life.  A reassuring presence in my screwed up life.  Sometimes that lanky frame may be there in body; chin resting on long fingers but his mind is elsewhere following the script in the books he always has clutched before him.  Oh he’ll use new technology, true, but give him a stinking old tome any day.  Preferably made of vellum.

He says little but sees everything with those calm brown eyes.  He is rarely pushed to show outward emotion. When I need him he always comes.  It may take him a little time to find me but he always comes through. Stephen is a good man who will not be moulded or coerced into anyone’s designs.

Which is what fascinates me about Stephen so much.  Why me?  Why defy his spiritual leader, his greatest teacher, his own father to protect and shelter me like he has done this past six years?

Saint Stephen, the Martyr

Saint Stephen, the Martyr

He never explains and I’ve learned to be content with that.

What I do know is that I love him.  He is my brother. My only constant.

I don’t know if he would die for me.

I’m not sure I’d die for him.  I’d kind of hoped that we’d never have to find out.

Shit happens.


Whispered to Lucifer (Lucille Clifton – Two Poems)

lucifer six-finger

where have you gone to

with your swift lightning


oh son of the morning

was it the woman

enticed you to leave us


was it to touch her

featherless arm

was it to curl your belly


around her

that you fell laughing

your grace all ashard


leaving us here in

perpetual evening

even the guardians


silent     all of us

going about our

fathers’ business


less radiant

less sure


Eve’s Version

smooth talker

slides into my dreams

and fills them with apple

apple snug as my breast

in the palm of my hand

apple sleek apple sweet

and bright in my mouth


it is your own lush self

you hunger for

he whispers     lucifer