‘Til Tuesday

Come evening they sit in the front room–
he with his chamomile and she has her crossword
puzzle on her lap. She swears when she makes a mistake in ink

The phone rings across the room. She coughs.He turns his head once,
but does not get up. She claims that she can tell
it is a telemarketer by the tone

“Is there any beer?”
She continues working on 23 down, not answering.
“Is there any beer?”
“There is no beer.” She writes in the answer.
“Pity.”

The clock strikes 8.
she puts down the puzzle.
“Meet you there?”
“Hmm?”
“Well it is Monday night.”
“So it is. Did you?”
“Yes, of course.”

She stands in the doorway in crimson.
She typically wears only black, but
had promised to always wear his favourite color red on Mondays.
“A new one. Lace?”
“Yes.”

After–
they lie very still, he on his side and she on her back,
smoking. He makes a pretense of coughing.
“Your hair looks like satin in this light.”

“And you look like the boy I met on the train.”
“Was that 1988?”
“You know it was.”
“Best day ever.”
Smoke rings at the ceiling speak of it.

She sits cross-legged on the bed
while he brushes her hair. Every few strokes
he leans forward and speaks directly into her ear, whispering
“I love Mondays.”

“Did you say you bought roses?”
“Red ones, two dozen”
“Where are they?”
“I saw you were home and ran in quickly. They must be in my car.”
She smiles.
“Silly.”

She lies on her side and he on his back. She pushes
a shock of hair off his forehead with a delicate gesture.
He closes his eyes.

“Let’s lay here until Tuesday.”

who’s there

come get your man
he is knocking on my door again
he seems lost
offering me gold and a future
he already gave to you

wounded warriors scratch at my window
to warn me
but they don’t see the battle scars
I have been here before
and I am armed

romantic daydreams and
rêveries may coat his words
but I am immune, I had my fill
when I swallowed one of his type
whole in a weak moment

I believe there are
still fairy tales to be lived
sweeties that melt on the tongue
with words of fidelity and
devotion
written across the sky

My tank feels empty

I wrote something this morning. I shared it with you because even though it was rough, I always want to tell you the truth. I wrote it quickly and did not edit it. It wasn’t great, but it was good. There was truth in it. I don’t want to post verbal spewing, but that is where the truth and heart is, the words I write before I have had a chance to muck it up, or chop it into pieces, or make it sound bigger than it is. Hipper than it is. It isn’t ageless literature. This is not Whitman I’m writing here. This isn’t Frost. It’s a big heart from a big, bad place. It is a journey from darkness into the light. Not the light they tell you to avoid, but the warmth of peace and contentment no matter where I find myself

It is love, pain, sorrow, tears, regret, longing, sadness, hope, choking, loss, care, love, loathing, vengeance, cost, ringing, silence, deadly, hopeful, chance, wisdom, idiocy, lust, craving, darkness, life, light, craftiness, gratitude, defeat, melancholy, rebuke, aching, anger, revilement, tenderness, grief, crazed wishes, damned mistakes, mercy, grace, want, desire, apathy, music, hate, crashing, thunder, lightning, devastation, obliteration, pain, death, touch, relief, resilience, endurance, thankfulness, love

puzzle pieces
all we have carried since then
birdsong still
the wishing that brings hard work
unexpected pleasures

(are we) Guarded

I scare myself

(she said)

when I think too deeply, denying the walls and encumbrances held dear so long
to open the doors wide, dust the corners, and drag feathers over fine china–
darling–you are the only thing precious enough that I might
worry for breaking us if we continue to mishandle what is too fragile for words
and your heart–I was close to getting my claws into–seems guarded–the castle
watched by half a dozen guards and their dogs, and you, well I believe you want me
more than ever but you will not tell me

So I scare myself

(she says to him)

half to death, no venue to pass over to you the depth and lightness of my soul
and this one thing I want more than any (that I would claw you for it, scratch your eyes until they are
useless) and she, her dark skin, her caramel that is yours will remain yours–but I will be happy
if I only see that spark there in your eyes–that she can not have–if I hear you say sweetheart
once more–and I believe you because you are there for only me-until you are not

we had to struggle to get here
and here is not even finished yet–
for all our work–we can relax now
knowing I love you and you love me–the
rest we can work out over time
because we already took care
of the hard part

devotion

I visited an old friend
and I said, ‘where is your husband,’
she said, ‘he is having a mid-life crisis, and
his penis is in the garage.’
I opened the garage door and saw a cherry red convertible
Ford Mustang
and had to laugh
I knew
that he did not keep it in his pants
but I wasn’t expecting to find it there
taking her place. I think
she liked when he was poor and in need
of cash, driving a beat up Chevy he hated
because he was always home
and always devoted

there are things we say
when we are
a(part)

what we might not
have said

without the grief of

d i s t a n c e

growing words
loving words
extraordinary
kindnesses

remotely

I miss your face

Monday Random: Quotes

  • In the end, only kindness matters. — Jewel
  • I’m so ugly, that’s okay cause so are you — Kurt Cobain
  • A mistake made by many people with great convictions is that they will let nothing stand in the way of their views, not even kindness. — Bryant McGill
  • Poetry destroyed? Genius banished? No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; they not only live, but reign, and redeem: and without their divine influence spread everywhere, you would be in hell–the hell of your own meanness. – Charlotte Brontë
  • All you  need is love. — Lennon/McCartney

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