Author Archives: Jennifer

Including You, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Including You

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Now that autumn is in full gear

And the air fills the lungs with letting go breaths,

The time has come once again

When the slant of light catches you off guard

And you find yourself weeping

Watching the precipitation from the trees

Vesturing the ground with red and gold.

 

There is nothing you can do.

The allegory of the leaves and change

Has been around as long as trees themselves.

You cannot get around letting go.

 

And there are times letting go turns

Into a flood of things sailing away

Just beyond your reach into a day full of cidered light–

And you can only watch, or try

 

To look away, nevertheless parts of your life

Will be draped on the ground like so many

Torn shards of shifts and shirts

And they will be there waiting for you

To witness their being caught down in unavoidable winds

And you will be left with either becoming

Hard, like a tree whose blood slows to frozen,

 

Or ebullient like a flower girl at a wedding, tossing

Rose petals along the aisle where death

Sits on one side and life on the other,

And your processional of letting go distracts everyone

Momentarily from the marriage about to happen

That will leave everyone, including you,

Searching frantically inside

For the one they used to love.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 




Rising, Falling, Rising, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Rising, Falling, Rising

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Watching the particles of dust

Falling in the lamplight

Of my bedroom reminds me

 

We are all falling,

Largely unseen in a light

So bright we careen into it, like

So many infinitesimally small moths.

 

Have you ever tried

Focusing your eyes

On a specific speck of falling dust–

The tiniest sliver of a snowflake,

As it sailed the currents

Of air in your room?

 

I have. After several attempts,

Which resulted in losing sight

Of the scintilla of dust in the white of the wall,

I was finally able to trace one

Descend, like the smallest slice of string

From some disintegrating, illuminated leaf,

 

It fell, and I saw it rise

When I exhaled, dip suddenly

When I inhaled, bank wanderingly

Towards the wall, tail back

And make my eyes cross

When it landed on my face.

 

Remember this:

After you turn out the light

Grains of dust fall upon you,

Pieces of pieces of falling white feathers

Slowly, methodically, like

The faintest of snow falls,

Covers you and everything

You love, like snow-embers

From some unseen fire,

 

And one day, when you realize

Your life is being traced by a greater

Vision, you will wake up

And see your life brushed

With ash, and you will rise,

Shake it off, remember

You are a pinch of stardust,

A dash of spice, a smidgen

Of fragrance, and it is time

To elaborate on the trajectory

Of your dreams, and turn the unavoidable

Process of falling

Into flying—

Flying into the light

Of your own brilliant desires.

 

 


 


 



The Stone Ledge, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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The Stone Ledge

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

The slant of light upon the grass

Where tattered tapestries of autumn leaves

Rise and fall, reveals the bones

Of a long since dead bird.

 

How is it I never noticed it before?

How is it I never stopped to grieve the leaving

Of this winged being?

 

Oh, I am busy, I know, but I do

Almost always look down when I walk,

So why?  Why did I not see?

 

Perhaps before it died I could have

Done something to help it live, take

It to a sanctuary or aviary,

Perhaps, at very least, I could have given

It a proper burial.

 

Now its bones, brittle, air-gone,

Lie in a little heap, wings fanned out

Into forever.

 

There is no going back.

There is no back to go back to.

However, there is a point of no return.

 

The way ahead is dark, empty

Of sky and wind, the way ahead

Is bones revealed in autumn,

The way ahead is wings spread

Without sky, without the holy

Uplifting.

 

I turn, bend close, go ahead

And lift the dead bird in my hands,

Carry it to the stone ledge, retrieve

A garden shovel, dig, let my nose run,

Place the skeleton down as gently

As I possibly can, return the earth,

Bless the leaving, cover the hope

Of ever flying again.

 


 

 

 

 


 



Stations, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Stations

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

“Have a good one,”

the teller said,

and I wondered

as I carried my bags

to the car:

“Which one?  One what?

Why limit yourself

to only one?”

 

The autumn train

is pulling away from the station

leaving trails of red

and gold in her wake.

 

Having missed my stop

owing to worry

and a pull to end

my own life, I roam

the Philadelphia streets

looking for someone

to tell me there will be other

ways to get through

the winter stations,

there will be friends

at the end of the line

holding signs and flowers,

there will be an end

to the tears,

 

and spring will be there

waiting to the do the rest—

waiting to welcome

a good one home.

 

 


 

 

 




Catfish Creek, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Catfish Creek

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Some days

and more

some nights

 

the catfish creek

beckons me

to lift my skirt

 

and wade into her waters

and find rest

among the leaves

 

falling on my upturned face

and passing clouds

fogging my eyes

 

until the night comes

and drains everything

in crimson currents

 

where no one will find me

except the cottonmouth

and the rainbow trout

 

and the moon

fading in the floating palms

of my empty hands

 

 

 

 

Awakened, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Awakened

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

This morning I was awakened

by pain in my left heel.

Until that moment, asleep or awake,

for probably somewhere in the neighborhood

of forty years, I forgot I even had

a left heel.

 

Why is it, I need pain in order

to wake up to parts of my own body?

How much like this, I wonder,

is my heart and mind, and anything left

hidden in the vast storehouse

of the soul?

 

 

 


 

 




So Inclined, by Jennifer Angelina Pedro

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graceful-autumn-tree

 

 

So Inclined

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Standing by the gold-flecked stream

watching leaves plucked from the trees

in droves by the wind, one cannot help,

if one is so inclined as to reflect on these things,

but notice how much like death

autumn must be.

 

Perhaps, when the time is ripe,

and the soul is heavy with longing,

and the great wind comes,

it will pluck my soul and spirit

right from the branches of my body

and cast them into the gold-dappled stream

flowing towards the sea.

 

It’s strange, isn’t it, that during autumn

the air is crisp, fresh, clarifying;

and the light slants in such a way

as to ignite the trees with joy even

as the trees relinquish themselves

to the letting go.

 

Harvest me autumn,

for the chlorophyl of hope has drained

from my face and limbs,

and seeped into the ground

to nourish the roots and bones

of those who already gave their all,

collect me in your harvest-hands

and turn my despair into gold.

 

 


 

 

 




Considerations, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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star-soul-flower

Considerations

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

Consider the Spanish word, Sol,

And the English word, soul.

Notice their intimate closeness,

Notice the soul is a little sun giving light

To the entire solar system of the body,

Notice how warmth spreads within you

As you realize you are a part of a universal,

Dancing constellation.

 

Consider the words, soil, and soul.

Notice their intimate closeness,

Notice the soul’s rich darkness, full of roots

And seeds, forgotten bones and hidden rivers,

Notice how coolness, damp with earth, eases

The weight of carrying so much.

 

 

 

 


 

 

The Center of Your Soul, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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The Center of Your Soul

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

You needn’t worry summer is stepping back;

You needn’t do the same; inside

Spirit has been gathering

Embers of the sun and the harvest moon

And placed them in the hearth of your soul;

As winter’s shift trundles over

The hillside and drapes itself

Over eaves and shutters, the space

Around the chimneys remains

Warm and where winter birds roost

To shake the frost from their wings;

Summer will always be there surrounded

By springtime in the center

Of who you are—there will always be warmth—

Now work—pretend you didn’t hear what I just said—

Go–collect the kindling of your desires,

Rake the dry leaves of your disappointments

And heap them together with whatever

Things you didn’t do this summer

And set them on fire; there is wood

A plenty in the forest of your worries—

It is there for a reason—you are

Not harming anyone or anything

When you illume the soul—winter silences

Autumn’s dazzling carnival, autumn

Diminishes summer’s return, and spring—

That fragrant season of dew-dappled light

Lives forever by the force of your own will

Coupled with mercy from heaven

In the center of your soul.

 

 

 

 





 

Transcendencies, A Transgender Manifesto, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Transcendencies

A Transgender Manifesto

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

We are all transcendentalists

Seeking to live above duality and paradox,

We are all transcendent,

Shining across space and time in clouds

Of oxygen and carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen;

Each and every one of us transcends

Something, or someone, or somehow

Or someday—just to be able to stand here catching our breath—

We transcend and we become—

It is as simple as that.

 

Our blood streams are transcontinental,

Our lives holy translations of spirit and soul,

And if we are lucky, we sense ourselves being

Transcribed onto the pages of the world

And can take comfort in knowing

Our lives are written, revised, edited, and published

By storylines far greater than ours—

 

We are all transfigured, like Jesus on the transmountain

And then resurrected to life everlasting

Every time we transcend ourselves to become ourselves–

Life is nothing but a series of ongoing

Transplantations and transferals of fluids and spirit–

We transmogrify our way through life–

And time is transinfinite—shifting over and ever through

Many transhistorical points of references

That are increasingly transcultural and transhuman, and

Full of blood and wishes—

Everything we do, say, or think

Is transformative, setting events into motion

That change us and our world—

 

We are all transients and haven’t a clue—

Even beyond our so-called beliefs, where or when, how, or why

We will be transformed and/or transported

To otherness, to other transpossibilities—

 

Our spirits translocate and love transelevates us—

We are transpirited and our souls translucent,

Transmissible, and transoceanic—-

Why not rejoice and dance with one another

And love the best of who we are?

 

Yes, I am transpierced with pain,

Yes, I have been transplanted inside

And the ground softens with every step;

Yes, I am transpolar and songs and poems

Come aching to be transubstantiated into form through me,

And yet, even as I move through a series

Of neverending transversals only to find myself

Transported into more hatred, ignorance,

And shadow-driven insecurities of the white men—

I am still here—I have not given up yet—

 

I transilluminate boundaries

That no longer have solid meaning—they never did,

But now monsters are waking up to the truth that gender

Is not fixed—it is transfixed—and no longer the transaxle

Of a tired binary sustained by them—the white men—

Whose own genitals they never truly know,

Or love, or transform into possibilities without shame—

Even though everything about people like me is transubstantiated

By living, breathing experience—for here I am, and yet I am told

I do not exist—I am told I do not deserve to exist—

Even though everything exists based on continuous

Transformations of spirit and body,

And long, transcendent series of moments

Spilling into other moments into which we are all

Given choices to hurt or to heal, love or to hate,

Explore or destroy—and the occurrences of transpeople

Hurting anyone are rare—for true transpeople

Understand pain as few others do————-

 

What makes you think you can transpose

An already faulty belief system to justify or rationalize

Your unjustifiable and irrational actions and laws?

 

Do you really think humanity will not eventually wise up

To your genocidal ways?

 

Be ye transported into a land where transcendencies

Are accepted as commonplace—because, in actuality,

They already are—

 

We all transmute oxygen and water

And food into our transubstantiating metabolisms—

Everything we do is a transaction of time and space

Body, mind, spirit, soul—no matter how far we move

From one another, we are all transactors,

And our breath transoceanic, and our lives

Transferrable with one another’s—

 

It will happen despite your barbaric ideas—

I will not be transfixed by your gaze—You

Who cannot think past your own shadow—

I am a living transmission of messages

Who illuminates your small mindedness.

 

I am not here to inspire some kind

Of transcultural revolution—

I AM a revolution—I am

Transfiguration transanimated by my every movement,

And I live as a thorn in the side

Of the white man who has lost any ability—

Indeed—if they ever had any—to transmute limited thinking

Into growth, evolution, wisdom, common sense—

Love and true, “Christian” charity—

The Jesus transfigured on the mount does not know

Hatred—no matter what Paul tried to tattoo

Onto him—Jesus was transgender—transforming

God-seed into woman-flesh—

And back again to seed and flower for all eternity—You can know this

With all certainty, if you will only look past your own

Untouched, unloved, unabused genitals—

Jesus came to transfigure you and to set your limited beliefs on fire,

Jesus came to give you a transfusion to flush out

Your hatred both of yourself and of those

Who truly live as he suggested—steeped in the beatitudes

So deeply as to be transcribed into living testaments

Of love’s transcendent power—

 

Come, shed your mantles of tissue and weariness,

Come shed your tired ideological transparencies,

And transmigrate with me to a way of living where Jesus reigns

Alongside the mother tree and the angels

Of transmogrification, and beings of transdimensional

Singing and dancing—

 

For we all transpire–and will–sooner than we want,

Life is transonic, yes, but it is death that comes at the speed of sound—

And when it does we shall all be transposed against a backdrop of light

And seen for how we really lived and breathed—

So live now with me, with us—we are your brothers and sisters

And siblings of light transilluminated with holy,

And unending folly and grace, and joy transacted

Into countless transferals—let us all be

Translocated into here and now—transgiven

Transcendencies in love, sweet love,

Everlasting.