almanac

there were the autumn trees the year we were in love, colors brighter than I had imagined under New England skies. And later, when I broke your heart. You broke mine soon after, tearing it apart

one year we missed the fall entirely, sliding from Labor Day straight into Christmas, unprepared for the onslaught–we were there but we were caught

then there was last year–when you opened your heart some and closed a wound. I’ll never forget, and always treasure, hoping you do not close it once more on those days when I am lost without measure

In November, the sun came out and got in my eyes, the joy of a cool morning after stepping from a furnace. Our leftovers from last Thanksgiving finding their way into a perfect day, trees shining, fluttering in a breeze

a month later, the winter wind cut through me like a filet knife–don’t be unkind, we all have weather and some coats are thin. I could see your eyes correcting my grammar (and punctuation)

and this morning, sun climbing through the fog and into a day, like no other that has gone before, but still feels familiar. Leaves. Sky. Hope. Littering. Leaping through hoops once you’ve set them on fire

 

 

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Wardrobe change

Sunrise june 4

The sky is changing once more
her dark gown for morning
her shimmering, chameleon of a gown
that is gold at once, and then fuchsia

no matter the night I have had
the seagulls do what they do
scanning the parking lot for leavings
before the first crew comes to sweep

despite my heart aching – the dew
is still there covering the grass
and the roses just shy, waiting to open
with full sunshine, yes they have their parts

and they just go on, don’t they
go on as always, the birds and the grass
no matter how we are broken up or feel
as though our lives have stopped

After a hot, dry week

What is that smell called?–I asked–
rain on dirty asphalt–
the steam rising with a scent
pronounced and like no other

We ran to the shops, pelted
with raindrops the size of buckshot.
“Petrichor,” he said
and I shook my head–

No, that is the rain on the dirt.
This is the smell of soldiers going to war
and their mothers’ heartbreak

“Why,” he asked, “do you have to do that?”
What? I eyed the shop shelves–and my list.
“Make me feel this ache?”

He paused, a pound of bacon
in his hand
in my peripheral

I didn’t start the war–I said
picking up a can of coffee, and
putting it into our cart

you leave me cool and blue

Blue and cool.jpg

he is a one-strike-you’re-out
kind of man
the dog days are wearing
on my scraped-up heart
self-pity is crap
but maybe I’ll learn
some

holding a can of Fresca
to my forehead
been told nothing
but bullshit today
your words that don’t thaw
however the mercury rises

I can take any day
when the blues are playing
hearing the church sing through the walls
tickling the g string and moanin’
how people keep going
and coming


Cool wind (with apology)

blackbird

When the winds shift
next day after a storm
a cool wind (with apology)
I can smell you from over the water
please take me home
keep my feet on solid ground

There is no guarantee
that the dirt won’t shift
and all this we built might crumble to bits
but I am finding it hard to trust the breeze
flighty and self-centered

You make a fool of me
my dignity lost in the air
debris caught up and flying about
with your smell
the woods and rain that you live in

feeding my thoughts each day
waiting for them to propagate
watching for the moment
when seed becomes brain-child
when the scent of you and the juniper
are impossible to resist