May you wake up in time
to catch the last lingering star
leaving quietly into the haze of dawn
Know that it was there
Know that it gave you light
Not as dazzling as the blazing sun
But it loved you
It love you quietly
through the darkest night
Blue
A sky as blue as today’s
makes me wonder
of all the wonderful things
that may happen if I let go
of this string, this kite,
and thoughts of you.
I Love You
I wish you could come and
sit next to me, this time
without words, only my
hand in yours, and we’d sit
for hours. And I believe
only in such warm silence
that we can begin to say
The Long Goodbye
If you think about it carefully, our goodbye
has begun the moment we said hello.
And then, through fighting and lovemaking,
through tenderness and forgiveness,
we spend the rest of our time together
trying to make this the longest
and most beautiful goodbye
we ever have to utter to each other.
Still
When he kissed you slowly;
when he called you baby;
when he held your hand and
carefully traced his thumb
over the back of your hand;
when he pulled you close
and said, ‘stay, we have so much time.’
These were the moments,
small, quiet, euphoric moments
that look liked love, felt like love,
that could almost be love.
But every night when you fell
asleep, your heart remained still;
It didn’t ache nor flutter;
It didn’t hope nor despair.
So you know, you know, oh
you must know,
it never was love.
Time of Evening
After work she went to the store
to pick up coffee filters and diapers,
a carton of eggs and
a bag of day-old raisin bread.
The tomatoes were on sale that day,
At the canned goods aisle she forgot
what she needed to get from there.
Was it cream of mushroom or baked beans?
She stood there quietly for a long while,
trying to remember,
how did she end up here?
Back home there are dishes
to be washed, trash to be taken out.
A small child crying.
A man who pretends not to hear.
And the sun is quietly disappearing
behind its own purple haze.
Two grocery bags,
heavy as iron in her arms,
and she was miles
and miles away from home.
Poetry
is this tattoo on my left wrist,
transformed
from a ragged scar that once was
a wound that bled for years and years.
Poetry is making heartbreak beautiful again.
Love Letter
Turn the light off, let’s fold
our bodies like pages
of a love letter written
decades ago; slow
kissing each word from
my dearest all the way
down to forever yours.
Untitled
Like a moth to a flame,
I, too, mistook you for a star.
A Story in 20 Words – 3
Seven Year Itch
The therapist says we should go back
to the orange groves in Florida again.
SW Altair 