Caramelized onions

don’t add sugar
why
would you add
to what is already
the perfect confection
with its inner beauty
and warmth, and its
crisp peppery sweetness

were we fools?

Say you’ll never leave me

Peanut-butter and jelly on toast
and the end to all things
Lana del Rey crooning in a way
I have come to count upon–

Eggs boiling–keeping it simple
the room taking on
a balmy. sultry. foggy feeling
at the cusp of a mid-west winter.

Shall we dance? Let us
make the best of it, with our
dead leaves to be raked, and
our car rusting up from the bottom–-

With my sepia view of the yard, and
our birthdays looming, suddenly
less of a threat, and doing their best
to be more of a promise–-


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

Passion and politics

Raindrops are lost to clods of dirt
stirred by your footfall
you–-so much taller than I–
I thought they were your tears
falling over my head;

I wish you had been sober
when you said you wanted me
I wish
you had been kinder
when you got sober;

You voted badly
and I knew it
you hammered me with your politics
while you didn’t know shit
about foreign policy;

You said you hated the Beatles
but you still could have stayed–
until you smashed
my ABBA record, and it was I
walking out;

I miss you staring into my eyes
’til I had to look down–
I miss staring at your lap
’til you blushed;

It is raining again
beating against
the clods of dirt
stirred up by your footfall
I still listen for

Separated by inches

Pacing at the window while the clock ticks in disbelief
Every hour today is wrap’t up in my irreverent grief.

Pointed fingers say it is my choosing and I take my penance
Our two languages have robbed us of our romance like a thief.

Agendas were voted on and no one else could be deemed errant
Watching twenty years drop one by one like an October leaf.

Outside I hear the robin’s and the bluejay’s raucous discontent
‘Twould be arrogant to view their passing as more than merely brief.

Oh Rose, you have done yourself in by worry’s cunning snares
All your cares now laid upon pillows of music and belief.

**

I dislike epilogues, or explanation of any kind accompanying poetry. But, this poem is a long time coming, and promised to Uma at One Grain Amongst the Storm . I read and enjoy his ghazal poems, a form in which I have wanted to try for some time, with only confidence holding me back. Like the haiku, the ghazal comes with a respected history, of which I would not want to disrespect with poor lines.

All that to say, here is my version of an English Ghazal. Thank you

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 am tired of hearing
how you feel
everyone feels
he said
you are not special
except when you make that cake
the one
with orange and dark chocolate
and your tears
falling
falling