My Valentine

Snowy Valentine.jpg

The light in here is too bright for morning
the sunrise peachy glow distorted and squinting
our distinctive beginning comes to me at the same time
both warm and cuspated

knowing your love still exists helps me to
keep on, keep on, and knowing you still love me
bids me not give up

The lights in this room are too dim to read by
in the evening, the aroma of sausage, with its
fennel and thyme, and the acid of tomatoes
keeping things real

the streaks in the sky at sundown leaving
little illumination to stir the sauce pot, little to the
imagination of a pair of love thieves in a jam

And some days we don’t take the time, even to
let eyes meet, but we continue, and
knowing your love still exists
helps me keep on, keep on

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Hoodwinked

 When I wear my leopard print
faux fur hat
I sense some hostility
along with
the joviality
of those I meet

Playful and fun, and
warm as toast, my head
can manage
sub-zero mornings
with a smile

Catching admiring eyes
that surprise me
entering the supermarket
and the coffee shop
I perceive more

Perhaps they see
the animal in me
conjuring images
smoking and insincere
strength and ferocity
under that
faux fur hat


photo unknown, pinterest.com

warmth

he got into my car
and immediately
after ‘thank you’, offered
did I want to discuss
literature
why yes, actually
I would love to, in fact
I am trying to finish my novel(s)

he had been shoveling driveways
he said
and he was so happy
telling me how
he had earned 30 bucks
sopping wet and no coat
he said
it was a really good day

he could not open the door
and I reached to unlock it
on my side, ‘it is
an old, weird car, I must
unlock it on the door’
he said
‘oh, it is
a beautiful car’

I feel unsteady

these days
not the metaphysical bit
of the mind off kilter

but the way you did not expect of me
toddling over ice and snow
in fear of falling

no longer dancing lightly up and down steps
my skirt brushing my ankles
daring me to try it

We two

How come every time I kiss your neck
you smell like the wind?
how come every time I kiss your neck
you smell like the wind–
the outdoors as if you were born there and come home
each time you open the doors, kissed by sun and shower
every time you walk barefoot up the walk

Your hair hanging over my face
makes me think of corn silk
and I want to kiss your ear, every time
smelling the earth in your hair, and
the world I have not traveled much of yet
has left a map across your cheeks
and over your nose, which I know
will wrinkle as you read these words

Don’t be unkind–like lightning–when
I don’t translate it well; don’t ask too many questions, please
I already don’t feel your heart–
it stopped when you read the fourth line, when
you felt my lips on your neck and an earthquake rumbled under us
when I bit your flesh there, when I bit you
as sure as you are sulking

How come we speak two languages when we connect in space? Why
do I break orbit when I try to plug you into my psyche, tell me
why is it impossible to fully be one on this sphere–
us here, we there–the wind and rain in your skin and your hair, tell me
why can we not be one like weather and ocean
and the stars and the air

How come–

recipe for sleep

Spreading peanut butter
a satisfying aroma of toasted bread
spreading the marmalade
then cutting it into corners
the crunch sounding good to my ears
with Lana Del Rey in the background
telling the neighborhood she’s up
the feel of warm socks on feet
that have been in a/c all night long
sun rays through the window on port side
don’t my legs look good against this carpet
food abandoned for now, and all the senses
trying to block out the temptations
with battery by the senses
but it’s no good I can’t be swayed
by a bit of toast and sympathy
comfort isn’t comforting me anymore
I need to feel the pain of running hard
and fast until my body gives up
then perhaps I will sleep the night

Last words

Too many sips loosens up the will
more than the intellect
I am either going to
ruin your day
or rock your stuff

Either way this is going
to play out to the finish
I already pressed the button
and I am no slacker

Do you forgive me–
because I felt myself
fading
and I had to do
something

Pre-threnody (before you go)

I don’t want anything of his when he is gone. Not a damned thing.
We didn’t talk for 20 years, and now he tells me stories. He tells me things about my mother I never knew, and I tuck them away like perfumed handkerchiefs in small drawers. I may never open them again, but they are there, preserved for posterity. Someone will want them and treasure them. Or someone careless will throw them in the trash.