Rain dance

Can you hear me?
My voice is quieter
after the storm
the windows shut tight
to keep the rain out

When the blue gets in
in spite of my weather-proof house
I pull up the memory, of
a day when the rain felt good

We splashed and danced
and thumbed our noses
at the soaking wet
knowing we could take the rain

wearing our
falling-in-love-again macs

Advertisements

Does it bother you

 

pink boa

I don’t believe in eternal soulmates
I was
too old to be naïve, and
too young
to put all my money on you

you have your preferences
like anyone
tea over coffee
scone over a muffin
a girl over a woman

it is no wonder
I stopped fighting you
so why do I sit here
in your pocket
where you put me

listening to you choose her
my pink boa–slipping
while you are looking at her
(did you know)

she is not looking at you
while you speak–

Their seasons

Her damp brow, from
hard work and well-
earned rest
a starling sings, and
she lifts her hands
in prayer-full stance–
the wind is shifting
and she remembers

In pre-twilight
early summer blues
a man-boy’s voice, inviting
her
don’t forget about the love
don’t leave it behind
don’t leave summer behind

She smelled evergreen
through July’s singe of grass
the first raspberries tart
and sweet
red lips musing
a wipe on the back of her arm
and in the leaves–
traces of longing

What do you suppose
the clouds talk about–
congregating in cirrocumulus bevy
when they see all of it–
the neck bite.
the slammed door.
one red apple.

By August’s fireflies
he–on the road
she–writing sonnets
on social media–
bursts from her pen
epics he will not read
reams, of
her late night daydreams

Just in time
for September,she
will answer the phone
breathless
wondering why he waited
until he finished the bottle
to call–
each word counted
and kept

Starting his wander back
through snowy by-ways
he searches for their key
in a pocket with a hole in it
knowing
it will take nearly ’til May
to speak of her again. Until

the breeze catches her scent
and he returns, to
find her once more–
his brown-haired fay
he swore was made of vapour
from the clouds
of early June

Measure twice, cut once

She was my biggest fan
when I was not even sure
of my words, always failing me
to get what was inside
on the outside

I was her biggest critic
(there was a time)
when I saw only anger
my way of grieving over a life
that could not be reversed

Here I am
twenty years past
thumbing through volumes
rifling over fabric scraps
to find a pattern
to answer questions

and all I see is love
through the eyes
of the mercy of time past
how she took reams of my words
sharing them
sowing them like seeds

then dead at 56
we were out of time
and any chance to bridge gulfs
and sew seams, but I remember
how we had pie and coffee
and laughed

Couples therapy

You are infuriating, he said
(I try, I said)
You drive me wild
(I am wild)
You forget to call
(my heart was calling, and
I hoped, you had
heard it)

You are loud in public
(I wanted you to see me)
You keep to yourself
(it is safer that way)
I adore you
(I feel adored)
I want you
(I wanted you first)

Let’s get away, you said
(I am afraid to fly)
Let’s remember what we
wanted when we started
(I adore you)
I need a break, you say
(you broke me)

Date night

I reach for the vents
pointing the a/c at my thighs
and my neck
turning on the Stones
and edit this moment
to feel like a good time
a really, really good time
baby

you pop French fries
into my mouth
going 75 in the middle lane
dodging semi’s
and I am giggling
at your bad jokes
my hand at six o’clock
on the wheel

I wish I had been stoned

because I did not want to look into the casket
perhaps, with some help
I might not have seen her so vividly
or since, not as she was

I wish I had been as brave
as she was
holding her hand
and saying goodbye, no
she held all of us together

I saw all I could side-eye
and the guilt remains
something I could hold in my hand
not hers, cold and without pity

I wish I had been stoned, but
I had not touched the stuff
since 1985, then maybe
the colours around her
would have soothed us all

and I could put this back in the hope chest
with all the other dust

Monday Random: dog days

  • It got mighty hot in the midwest of the states, and, for me, that means near Chicago
  • Oh, I am sure it was as hot in other places before and after our heat spell broke, but I guess it was smart of them, whoever ‘them’ is, to alert the public so they keep hydrated and check on loved ones who live alone in highrises
  • Does anyone remember this tragedy in 1995?
  • Still, I don’t want to be that guy, you know the one
  • The complainer.
  • Hot enough for you? Haha

Continue reading “Monday Random: dog days”