Autobiography: Chapter One
Marikim Kitchen

my name
compounds
and hyphenates
like my life-
erased the memory of my father's house
fair maiden named in leisure
and in love: that would last forever.

infertile womb
punctuated by periods
of one birth
then another too soon after
three years
and then the final
interrupts 
the straw that broke
the spineless back:
my life: his burden
too ornate
to wear around his neck
another day
he left-
"he forgot
to kiss me
goodbye"

he wasn't coming back.
I didn't 
want him 
too

four years
when doctor's marveled, 
removed the dead tissue
from my weakened body
"how
did you live
so long
with the pain?"

i thought
i was supposed to feel
that way-

my name
compounds 
and hyphenates
like my life.

lost and found
Marikim Kitchen

the night had come.
I knew it would.
I heard the rush of time
I could not hold on to.

I order death
Not to come
Not here. Not now.

She welcomes
The stranger
And calls him friend.

She sighs
Releases her body from caring.
I press my lips hard against hers.

Her breath becomes my breath
Becomes none.

I gasp and grab for air
Above the hardened surface
Of my agony.

Captive unbalanced weight
Of my sorrow

I float
Face down
Face down

Days pass
Too many days.
I will not live
I do not die.

I wait.
In thick wet darkness
I wait.

She'll find me
My friend, she'll find me
And bring me home.

Made in America
There's no place like home- for the homeless
Marikim Kitchen

No one 
asked me
that day
if my world had changed
if I had felt 
the terror

I live in harms way
no place like home
for me

security is the kindness
of strangers
who pile spoonfuls
of donated smiles
on my plate
to avoid looking
into my eyes
and perhaps seeing their 
own reflection.
 
Seasons when our stories
are the fashion
or when 
breaking news
isn't readily available

They come
and asks
for just one
to tell our stories.

or write of ordinary heros
who seek to save us

words out of reach

We all have stories to tell
and they are not only stories
of where we live
but of who we are.

day to day
my terror is
that there will be
no one
left to listen
(to my story)