Category Archives: poetry

Tea

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Making tea, I watch
flames embrace kettle
and think in my heart
it blooms violet with fire.
Like this I will exist
in love with you
with every heated breath
from this day until I sigh
my last.
My hand flies to my face,
I weep against my palm
because it hurts to inhale
and burns to exhale.
I cannot touch
blue flames with my fingertips
or your lips
with my own.

driving home

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my shadow scared me
but the stars felt nice,
a bird flew out of nowhere
through city twilight.
these are just some facts
maybe you could use, or not,
as you formulate
your assessment of me.
i drove past the hospital
and started to cry;
all the feathers
were ripped from my breast
by the simple act
of weeping under the weight
of that monument– at least
i believe you’d understand the
messy tears and sense of coming
apart.
then perhaps you could help
explain to me why
driving home can so much
seem sometimes like
driving away.

You’ll Never Know

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i saw sunset,
through bare branches,
brush, and bramble,
and i rushed through my mind
to tell you.
it was nothing spectacular,
a streak of gold and a
pouch of pink in an otherwise
muddy dome,
yet i felt if you knew
how i ran out into the cold,
saw my breath meet sky,
and shivered,
it would be a secret
we could share
because you should know
everything.

i want to say
my heart is yours,
but truthfully
it is no longer mine to give,
and anyway who would want
such a squelchy thing
that beats so rampant,
that scurries
from the world like a rabbit
into a deep den?

i want to say i am yours,
here, here, take me
!
but isn’t that
what we always do when
we infatuate ourselves with things
we cannot have, when
we devise ways to
break our own hearts?

by the time
i scribbled these words,
the sky changed again,
was dark and plain
as a crow’s feathers.
it was something i also
wanted to tell you,
although now
you’ll never know.

dream you

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please let me dream you
because my heart is sore
and my mind is so tired
it’s too much effort to even
pet the dog.

please let me hold your hand
and say things
that prickle and burn like
ice in my fingers.

i’ve watched trees change
and carpet the lawn gold,
then brown and drift away.
the now leafless forest
resembles stems and twigs
of my mind, reaching out
against cool, gray space.

i listen for you in songs
and sigh into the hope
you’ll show up
when i close my eyes.

small enough

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if i make myself
small enough,
a lowercase letter
curled tight, unassuming;
if i fold up parts
of me that are
long and large,
that flap and billow
hard and angry in the wind;
if i make my footprint
that of a sparrow;
if i suck in my gut
and allow the ocean to dry
into a teaspoon of salt, maybe
in my vanishing act,
love will atone
as i become inconspicuous,
pedestrian as a blink,
eyelash brushing cheek
but for a moment.
i’ll tuck chin to neck
and knees to chest,
furl fingers to fists,
become tiny, scarce.
if i make myself
small enough,
perhaps
i will fit
in you.

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written as part of the wordpress daily prompt, “Vanish”
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/vanish/

peace or something akin to it

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it settles,
a quiet, heavy curve
in me,
like a dune where i hide
and hear ocean noise as a child.
it settles in a place where i feel
all the old aches of everything.

someone once told me
scars are beautiful,
as they traced mine in the dark.
someone once urged me to believe
but I don’t remember who,
or if they could be trusted,
so my mind flops now,
a breathless fish on land.

if you allow your fingers
to move, to hold the space
around me,
maybe things would quiet,
maybe the moon would not tug
so mercilessly at my eyes
and i would know peace
or something akin to it,
as the tide goes out for good.

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to the Cemetery 

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I don’t believe you’re here,
although, technically,
you’re down there,
nestled like a hibernating animal
under mounds of dirt,
snug in your cavern,
fingers curled stiff in the dark.

It scares and thrills me,
at once, how we still sit together,
although our conversation
is rather one-sided these days,
so I spend most of the time
companionable, silent with you.

I don’t believe in ghosts or haunting,
although it is strange how you whispered
words long forgotten
in my ear, and how I laughed
(with you?) as the “murder” of crows
flew over my head.

Can you feel the heat of my hands
pressing down on the earth over you,
as though trying to pat you
through thin covers
of a hospital bed?
Can you hear my voice tremble
with grief and embarassment as I
tell you about my day, about
squirrels chattering in the tree
that shades you, about
your neighbor’s wind chimes, about
the bizarre parade and
all the shades of grief and loss?

What a conversation we would have had,
thee and me, about all this.

There was a poem I meant to share,
a missed chance almost too great to bear.

The breeze stirs up in the trees,
I kneel with my hands on the ground,
and even though you cannot feel or hear
me, I do it anyway.

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Written for my dear E., who I continue to love and miss with every breath. . .  

Part of the WordPress daily prompt challenge.  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/eerie/