If anyone asks

it wasn’t luck
that brought us together
or fate
and it might have been God
doing that
but so far I have received
no official word

all I know for certain
all I remember
are fireworks going off
food tasting better
and all the senses

and if you go
there will be no more
my meals plain
and without
any spice


Paper hearts


Is there someone still
out there
writing words on paper
cutting them out
in the shape of a heart
or folding it
into an airplane
to fly to their love

I can’t make love
to a hunk of metal
cold and unyielding
can you feel
my hand in your pocket?
looking for your pen

I put
your phone away
close it up
lock and key
stuffing a notebook into your hand
turn me on

you look lost
so I take your pen
and I write
my manifesto
across your body
a declaration
of each and every promise
we uttered in a weak moment

stand still
this won’t hurt at all
putting before you
a mirror
now read me

we cannot agree
on everything
(some days,
on anything)
hell, sometimes
we can’t agree on
what music to hear
but grasp my hand
and feel the
thrum of a beat
in my wrist
with your thumb
and let us agree
to never grow cold
let’s agree
on that

you do the math

dancing in my living room
to George and Elton
(does it really happen
if no-one sees it? like
that proverbial
tree in the forest)

he says I never go out
(though I could tell him stories
about 1985, when I lived ten years
in 12 months)
and I dance and dance

my head full of 1990
(wonderwall, hammer, hit me baby)
one more time–-let’s dance as one
I’ll lead this time–you follow–-
if you still have that notion
that 1+1= 1
and 2+1= no-end-of-joy

perhaps we will find
a new kind of joy
wrap’d in understanding, and
lessons learned (old flames–-
new rites of passage)
let’s not forget, and dance to now
(rhianna, radiohead, foo fighters
+ the beatles,
the eagles, and 21 pilots,
shaken and stirred)

once I thought it was crucial
to fly without a net
but I believe
the real trick
is to not let go

during the meal of his life
she brought out dessert early
between French onion soup
and shrimp cocktail
huge Alaskan prawn dripping
in garlic butter and
tomato horseradish
his hand moving from the dish
to his lips in a rhythm
until she cut into the pies
beyond all his dreams
of lust and avarice

Crazy quilt

Table spoons of doubt
stained into our full bowls
sans expectations

and they twist them
until I say
let me up
I can’t take it when you silence me

and I take it
and take it

whilst life-long ambitions for heartache
never let you down.

And I have time now
time to sew together all these patches.

I always thought
this quilt would be ordered and lush
the colors coordinated
with the seasons

but this life is a crazy quilt
or has this crazy quilt
of misshapen patches
become us? It seems

some of the paintful episodes
have faded red and black
into pink and gray

their mauve hues
in the middle of
blues and greens
that is what I learned

in October–how
pain and pleasure meld
to a deep joy
when mixed just so
with care and kindness
and forgiveness

Isn’t it precious
when we try
to save it up for later days

Isn’t it precious
to miss out anymore

on what could paint this day
until it does not look
like the same day

What have I lost?

Lost a suitcase with too many love letters. Held too long and too fast. To last.

Lost my heart to the man I did not understand. So foolish a young girl. What did I know of love

to hold on to it that well? Lost socks. 147 over a lifetime. I imagine they are somewhere with him

my stalker hoarding even the ones with the hole at the big toe, sitting with needle and thread painstakingly

mending what others call refuse. I refuse

to acknowledge the one that got away. I worked too hard and long

at giving myself away and only just now have I found myself, what was lost in some infernal junk drawer of miscellany is now mine again, bedraggled, blood-parched, begging me for mercy for one more go around the bend.

Let us do it–let us gather what is lost and grasp what so far
was never ours to hold

Monday Random

  • I am going to have to sacrifice some morning writing time for sewing, or get better light bulbs for seeing in the evening. I have a huge sewing project and I find it very easy to mix up brown and black, and never can tell the difference in the evening between beige and pink. This is a new problem, but solveable
  • Our birdy friend on the deck is still out there chirping for a mate. Here he is: