the moon meets the sun

i've tasted 
fire and ice

neither
fully satisfied.

I taste you

a combination
of heat
and cold

of floral
and earth

and I want it
again
and again.

You are a balance.
An in between
I didn't know
I could experience.

I waited for the moonrise
and you showed me worth
in holding out
for the sun.

Worn

I fell into something familiar
and like the last go,
it ended in
abrupt
explosive
and repetetive
goodbyes.

The familiar no longer
felt like
a warm fireplace.
It burned my
skin
and I turned to look
to something
cooling.

Something healing.

I fell into something familiar
those two years ago.

This time,
I walk into something
new.

Changing of the guards

I pour a glass of wine
light a candle
my work clothes fall to the floor.
I attempt comfort.

It isn't clear yet,
(to me)
how to write in the calm
in the peace.

(what is this soundlessness)

I eat an entire bowl
of popcorn
I watch the sun recede.
I search for words.

It's 11:00 now.
It was so quiet
I almost missed
the
change.

My hands are clammy
my body overheated.
I am sweating.
Is it muggy in here?

(am I searching for a problem)

Shift change.
The new guards
fresh pairs of eyes
I am angry
I ever let the others past.

I look out the doors
its dark
I still have not
put into words
the feeling
of content
awareness.

(hope feels irrelevant)

I'm going to write
a poem about you.

It won't be a poem
of longing
or molding
or pain.

It will be a piece
about you.
And of what is.

My glass
sits half
empty.
The candle
dances.

I thank the changing
of the guards.

(writing of you
makes you real)

Slut

I fly below the equator
a boy kisses me
while we dance.

We go back together
sleep in separate beds.
I do not let him in.

He starts the new day
telling his friends
that he’s had me
in ways he has not.

My heart bleeds
for the times
and the moments
I knelt in shame.
Begging the universe
to take from me
the impossible
polarity
of being a woman
in a world
where I must be

Sexual
but conservative.

Beautiful
but subtle.

Audible
but silent.

Desirable
but chaste.

He slapped my ass,
called me a good kisser.

My lips burned.

Not with lust,
but intuition
that he would cause harm. 


And he did. 



balcony

Water dripped from above
like it was raining
except
the humid air
did not bring with it
precipitation.

I looked overhead to find
the source
and saw the light on
and her face
looking over the railing.

Naturally I wondered
who she was
and what she was to you.

She disappeared.
The light, now off.

I remained below
still watching the water
as it splashed to the ground,
watched it pool
as I walked to the front door.

I placed my key in its lock
and let my own
hopeful expectations
drain.

In the next room

In one room
my grandmother begs for peace.
She cries for her mother,
screams in confusion and pain.
 
In the kitchen, he cooks dinner alone.
Smelts, fresh bread, salad, a beer.
I watch my grandfather as he moves
quiet and purposeful.
 
He fries the fish as he holds back tears.
He hears his wife cry out in pain.
His own is angry, frustrated.
He tells me,
 
“this was not supposed to happen.
This is not how I imagined the end.”
 
He sits at the kitchen table
the Steelers’ game plays in front of him
He does not notice me watching
as he drizzles hot sauce on his meal.
 
He turns, sensing me behind him,
tells me to grab a plate.
I do, knowing this is an important offering.
 
He fixes me dinner,
too many smelts than I can stomach,
salad, and bread.
I begin to eat silently next to him
 
This is his language of love.
 
He gets up suddenly
grabs a glass from the cupboard
pours half of his beer in the glass.
He hands it to me.
 
I drink. I take him in.
I say nothing. Because I know
he needs this. He needs me
to be silent with him, to eat
the food he has made
to accept what love
he has left to give.
 
To do something
anything.

washed away

I open the drawer
where I keep the lingerie
I wore that night.

I look to 
the bottoms you took off
to enter 
without foreplay or affection.
Without protection.

I asked you to wear a condom.

I stand alone in my bedroom.
I hold the shorts to my nose
the satin smells like your cologne.

I'm reminded of the blind hope
the unfulfilling physical touch.

I feel mixed sadness
as I place
the satin shorts
in the washing machine,
reverently.

I wore them to feel
sexy,
desirable.

Like an object,
you take,
you play,
and return me
once you’ve finished.

I shut the lid
turn away from the wreckage,
wishing desperately to redo
the night you came inside 
looking for a way out.