no man is an island,
though we try
to stand
on our own
fighting demons
with swords of wit and sarcasm,
we are always bumping into
different versions
of ourselves
and
tripping over the heart
that gets left on
the floor,
broken.
::
::
::
the moon circus calls
and i curtsy in the corner of contrition
the stars are here to witness
this comedy of error
my pirouette of promise
dance, she calls
and leaves skitter
howl, she cries
and trees bend
i stay up on my toes
spinning
spinning
plié
spinning
free
::
::
::
loss is a word
that lives like a snake
all coiled up and hissing
slithering
through tunnels
of comprehension
and coming out
the other side
found
::
::
::
it seemed like such a simple question
what would you take with you
if your house was burning down
but it came with too many answers
and then
not enough
and then it sat just there
staring back at me like a mirror
taunting me
daring me
double dog daring me
to answer
if you want to know
i will tell you
on my way out the door
i picked up books and photos
my grandmother’s
gold and white teapot
the christmas bell
my father gave me
the drawings my son
crayoned as a child
a favorite teacup
my journals and poetry
the rose-colored glasses
my mom handed me
on my thirteenth
birthday
cards and letters
my favorite soup pot
the flannel shirt
my husband wore
at our wedding
lace doilies crocheted
by my oldest friend
a necklace made by my sister
my arms grew tired
my burden, heavy
when i got to the door
i turned
and set it all down
all of it
arranged it neatly
in a shrine
to memory
took one step backward
and then another
and another
then finally turned
and walked outside
empty handed
empty handed
heart full
::
::
this is the corner i live in
…….ripe with seed and detritus
burdened by sun and potential
…….promises, promises
i have
music that will never be heard
stories that will never be written
wisdom that will never be learned
it’s not tomorrow.
…….it’s never tomorrow.
this is hope, all hard and prickly.
you always thought
it would feel like velvet
…….didn’t you?
:
::
yesterday i read old poems
and laughed at myself
all that anger
leather
tethered
to skinny arms and broken heart
made up armor for mixed up girl
tough skin to hide behind
all painted red and pretty
somewhere along the line
i let it go
all of it
released it into air
that cradled and promised
watched it float away
waved goodbye
shed no tear
now, now
i sit in this same old kitchen
hard chair
curved back
worn slightly by years
of useful
use
i know the scars and scratches
that run beneath my fingers
each one could have been a sentence
or at least
a perfect word
etched along the surface
of sanity
marking time
yesterday i read old poems
and laughed at myself
:
::
for days now i’ve thought of almost nothing else
words swim across the page in gently flowing rivers
the sun bleeds itself dry as it vies for my attention
a pebble in my shoe strives to become a nuisance
minutes and hours unfold themselves and flatten
a penny rolls across the floor and lies there
still
everything i’ve ever felt rises to the surface
i seek out stars and find nothing but glitter
a flower in a purple vase begins to wilt
vines grow through the wall that acts as support
a green leaf turns crimson and spins to the ground
water laps at the shores of forgiveness
quiet
from directly above, the peak of a mountain
is only one shade lighter than the valley
:
::
the hope is that life will get better
that change is something more than a word
that working my way through odd-shaped days
head down, back breaking
will be worth it, in the end.
only there is no end,
it’s all a circle
hamster wheel squeaking loudly
when all i want is to sleep
and i laugh at myself
as i pretend to know
to not know
everything that i know
which is nothing
or less than
today.
:
::
so much resistance
always pressing up
against a sky
that refuses
to show us who we are
colorblind we rage
at impossible sunsets
and mercurial momentum
as inertia
holds us steady
in the knowledge
that a shadow
is incapable
of lies
:
::
they go into town every sunday
for breakfast
choosing one of two places at whim
leaning back into old familiars
smiling at neighbors old as family
he always orders bacon, she likes rye
their two hearts
have run the gauntlet
of this life this love this ritual
and survived
she makes him tea every day at 4:00
he still trusts perfect strangers
they have this land, ten thousand sunsets
and one perfect smile
between them
:
::
