that's mrs. mediocrity to you

Dear February,

I’m turning my back and you, and I won’t be peeking over my shoulder as I walk away, so don’t wait for me.

It’s not me, it’s you. No, really, it’s YOU.

I know I’m not supposed to hold grudges, and I’ve tried hard to be forgiving, but you, well, let’s just say no one would ever accuse you of being bubbly. Or sunshiny. Or heartwarming.

You are one long, cold, grey night and that’s the truth of it.

Oh, I tried warming up to you, I built you fires and brought you flowers and attempted to sweeten you up with chocolate.

But you refuse to crack, all encased in the ice you wear so proudly, thinking you’re so cool.

And yes, I know that March may not actually be a step up, he’s really more like a slide on over, but he has more heart than you, anyone can see that.

Goodbye February. I wish I could say it was good while it lasted, I wish I had been able to transcend my bitterness.

In the end, I got cold feet.

Because you stole all my shoes.

So go on now, wrap yourself in that dirty, used-to-be-white jacket and find yourself another girl.

I hope you can find one that loves you more than I did.

Good luck with that.

i have rosa parks on one eye
and an apple in the other

and that’s not even counting how many
flags it took to paste my mouth shut,
a whole row of forever sealed with love

to keep me quiet because letters
are filled with absence and whispers
and the check is always in the mail

but even grand central station
can’t keep up with a butterfly
that hovers just this side of blue

and your two cents
well, it will cost a whole lot more
to be heard nowadays

in this world of press on policies
and plastic outrage refusing to fit into
one ounce or seven at quarter past eleven

and the gavel of discretion
bangs down hard on my temple,
this ruin of time so fragile

but not at all hazardous
or containing anything liquid
restricted or red tape perishable

just a kaleidoscope of flowers
for corner decoration and
one way philatelistic passage

when all you have to do
is write

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Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night

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sitting with the silence

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I am struggling with the last days of February, struggling with the last days we had with our old-lady cat, struggling with change and loss, darkness and shadow.

Struggling but not giving up.

At night I make a fire, all orange and red and yellow against the black canvas of life, and then pull quilts around me and lose myself in books and words, or beautiful pictures. And when I am tired of beauty, I move on to things that make me laugh, or at the very least, smile.

The wind howls and I am bending. Down, down, down to touch the earth.

Once I have kissed it, then it will be time to let go and stretch back up towards the sun.

This month is its very own season. The empty cave of February.

And in a cave, you hibernate.

I’ll be here.

is always drawn through tears
on the tails of falling stars

and just like the pleiades
cannot be seen
if you stare directly

but only exists
in the corner of your eye
or someone else’s

just a habit whisper
phantom ghost
heard only at midnight

and in the after echo
of the twelve stroke
dissonant chime

the silhouette
of negative space
is deafening

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Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night

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this beautiful mess

in this beautiful light

and that one tiny twig

holding on

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“If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that
love actually is all around.”

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When I was younger, I would have snorted at that,
but I have come to believe that it’s true.

Love is so little of what we’re taught
in fairy tales and romantic novels.

Love isn’t found in a box of chocolates,
although, I do love chocolate.

Love is being there.

Listening.

Showing up, again and again.

Making coffee for him the night before,
every single day.

Filling the woodbox for her
because you know she loves the fire.

Holding each other up
when you’re both too tired to stand alone.

A pot of soup for your mom when she’s ill.

Teaching a child to read.

Opening the door for a stranger at the grocery store.

Returning the $20 bill the guy ahead of you just dropped.

Trying your best, always, to do the right thing.

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I know that a lot of people aren’t fond of Valentines’ Day,
saying it feels forced and commercial and contrived.

And perhaps it is all those things.

But in a world filled with darkness and hatred and hardship,
a day to celebrate love feels like a good thing to me.

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So Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you.
May you find love in tiny places
and kindness wherever you go.

.

And thank you, for coming here, for reading,
for the kindness and encouragement you’ve offered me.

.

And Happy Valentine’s Day to you,
International Man of Mystery,
because I don’t fall in love very often,
but when I do,
it’s with you.

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(the quote is from one of the best movies about love, ever: love actually)

life keeps raining down around me
even as i close my eyes in a vain attempt to hide
even as i refuse to see anything but beautiful
even as i say goodbye and goodbye and goodbye

and i listen to the music of the weather you
bring to me in a jar the color of sea

i listen to spring creeping in just beneath
winter’s worn grey tattered dress

i listen to the sound of
………….another year dying
………….another heart trying
………….another eye crying

my palms turned upward to catch diamond drops
………….and bits of glitter that will leave with the sun

there is more light than you can see
………….more hope than you can harness
………….more time than you can shelter

and there is less of you
………………..less of me
………………………….less of yesterday

in this puddle building up around my ankles
….this ocean of silence that roars in my ears
….this river that runs straight to the cave of your heart

….this avalanche that keeps raining down

……………………………..raining

………………………down

…………………around

……………………………..me

..

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Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night

It’s beautiful outside just now.

Winter wonderland beautiful.

Snow angel, snowman, sledding, hot cocoa weather.

It will be a day of pretending we live in a snow globe

with books and a fire and a quiet dinner

and no world beyond the edge of the driveway.

Or, perhaps, we won’t be pretending.

There is no place to be but here.

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Well, if I were February, it would be. Instead, I find color where I can, strewn about the house in bits of glass and fabric. Tulips from the grocery store. Eggs with a rainbow of peppers for breakfast.

Magic is the word I chose for 2013, reading is the word that’s chosen me. And everywhere I go, it’s quiet.

Our oldest cat is fading away and I watch her fighting. I think about life, and death, and everything in between. We make her a fire every night, and feed her all the tuna she wants, and give her lots of extra love.

The other night I broke out the afghan I’ve been working on for something like three years now… I only have a few rows to go, and it feels like it’s time to finally finish it.

Sometimes, endings come when you’re least expecting them. Sometimes, even though you know they are coming, it’s hard to look them in the eye.

The book I’m reading now is going to be hard to let go of. Fremont by Elizabeth Reeder. It’s filled with beginnings and magic and the trials of life. And, of course, endings.

And I’m in love with it.

This book. This grey sky, this grey cat, this life.

Every small, silent moment.