Cookbook, page 29

Breakfast was unsatisfying
The sunshine made too much of it all
The rain is coming, not nearly soon enough
The birds complained about the bread crusts
(breakfast, sun, rain, birds, bread)
Recipe for a morning.

The night was interrupted twice
The stars made 2 a.m. worth it
I found myself dozing, pen in hand
The rain (still) has not arrived, and I wait
The birds sang me awake so I could write to you
(night, stars, pen, rain, birdsong)
Recipe for joy.

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Lemon pie blues

Today hurt bad like cuts on my fingers
then slicing lemons for hours
your face, always disappointed, and
I would like to be the girl
to bring light to your eyes

How do I explain why it hurts more
to be misunderstood than kicked
honey, how I wish I could have you here
to protect me now
because I am feeling low

Feeling tired and wondering why
I never fit into this world of woe
come Sunday, everything
is going to feel alright
praise God on Sunday we will dance

and give happiness one more chance
come Sunday
everything is gonna feel alright

Monday Random: compromise

A reprise of a Monday Random post from 2017, which applies directly to the wounds of this past weekend, real and imagined, and no, I will not explain that right now. Thank you for reading.

Are You Thrilled

  • I make my husband happy when I don’t talk during the news even if something makes me want to monologue
  • He makes me happy when he watches one of my old movies and doesn’t complain about the sound or the lame sets
  • I go to every Star Trek movie, sometimes on opening night
  • At some point he stopped saying things about my family that were sore spots
  • He went to the church I picked
  • I make pizza ten times more often than I’d ever eat it, and I learned how to make pizza crust like a New Yorker
  • I learned how to make cheesecake like a New Yorker though I could go the rest of my life without eating it
  • He’d rather the mayo not touch the cheese on a sandwich, and I respect that
  • He reads all my manuscripts and gives honest feedback
  • I’ve been going through menopause for…

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Didn’t we die, bit by bit

each night
something new
tossed into the stew
with the carrots and red potatoes
the gravy and its
discontent
covering everything

I walked around
the disease
adding up the slights
I heard talk of gangrene
as I searched
for that four-leaf clover
since ten
(holy shit)
that seems foolhardy

Then wasn’t it sweet
following that wretched meal
with cheesecake
and café au lait
each measured step upon rose petals
toward silk bliss
the decay forgotten
for hours

late night crackle of fire
early June heat like mid-summer swelter
bad news on the horizon

I take steps backwards, and
a hand on my back pushes
me to press on

put popcorn in the fire
ice in a glass
small joys

because joy helps you to swallow

roses.jpg

each day my resolve
weakens
under a burden of years
with one truth to be
self-evident
that we did not think
everything through

in these hours
I sweep fetid memory
under his favourite chair
each moment of hell
relegated to the pantry
behind the oatmeal
no one will eat

it is best to leave way
for new sweet minutes
when I am kinder
and remember smiles
like that time
he left his tea
atop the car
and we laughed

(easier to) Forgive

If we start adding up our slights
(when we bruised, neglected
and lied to one another)
we will lose sight of the treasures
(love, joy, peace, hope,
and patience)and everytime
we held one another and cried-
If we list them all (spiteful,
lasting, ungenerous boasting)
we will never get to where
we wanted to be (by now)
before we go