I wanted to
write
in biting
verse
Asking about
your party
and my friends
in attendance
I’d make some
metaphor about
Independence Day
I wanted to
lash out
and ask
how the space
felt as you
hosted.
I’m still angry -
I’m still grateful.
I’m not going
to maneuver my
schedule around
your’s, anymore.
And I won’t
reach for you
in drunken texts
or in venomous
poems.
In the end
all it is
is missing you
and us
and the summer
before
And if I can’t
let go
I hope you can.
I hope you find
better
I hope it’s
more than
fireworks.
Oh,
didn’t I tell you?
I repel
the explosions
and the smoke
Sometimes
I hate them.
The empty sky
and hidden stars
once the show
ends.
But you’re
not them
and you’re
no performance
You’re sun
in February
and lightning
in June.
You are joy.
“How was your party?”
I’ll ask, pointedly.
“Did you see fireworks?”
And if you ask if I
saw them, too,
I’ll nod and smile
in the same
restrained way
you smile at me, now.
“Sure, I saw them,”
knowing damn well
I didn’t even look.
Tag: new beginnings
Split
“Stay present,”
He advises.
Lovingly;
Selflessly
“I don’t want
you split between
two places.”
I want to laugh
You see,
you’ve been with
me, in the
mountains of
West Virginia.
Along the shores
of the
Great Lakes.
I saw you in
the mouth of
Mammoth Cave.
When the fireworks
reflected in
the D.C. waters.
I haven’t left
your hometown
in weeks.
“I’ll do my best,”
I assure him.
I’ve been trying
to untangle my
feet
wrestle them into
one place
For over a year.
loves
and in the end
or the beginning
which ever end
you start to
untangle or
string together
it's in loving them
both
that will
restore
or
renew
which ever
frame you
choose
it’ll be the
same picture
It’s not one
or the other
I keep trying to
picture either
course
and they begin
with loose ends
and finish
in tight knots
I’d rather hold
both
if they let me.
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)
someone like you
I feel small
even contemplating the idea
that eyes like yours
hands like yours
kindness like yours
could consider me.
Eyes that linger
like they want to see.
Like they want to remember.
Gentle hands,
intentional.
You remember details.
You ask questions.
I wonder
if someone like me,
flawed and spontaneous,
direct,
could attract someone
subtle and
tender
like you.
Ghosts
I won’t convince you either way.
You decided this
before you met me.
I picture
the ghosts
that may reside in your heart,
ones you haven’t made peace with.
I hope you find enough ground
to feel safe letting another in.
It seems that
in keeping people at a distance
they leave in the end.
A self-fulfilling prophecy.
Perhaps you said those things
to be kind.
Or maybe they were your truth.
At any rate,
I wish your
heart
had room for me.
I’m no exorcist.
My light
shines too bright sometimes
in dark corners.
I can’t dim it.
Not even for you.
After I left your place,
I went to the water.
I’m not ready to
walk with this,
knowing our brief
encounters are over.
I sit in the heaviness of it,
equally as freeing for me,
as I know we negotiated
the best we could.
At the water I release
ghosts of my own.
I see them for what they are.
Some hope goes with them.
I see you with clear eyes.
Kind and gentle.
Perhaps lost in your own head.
Unsure, tempted and fearful.
I can’t pull out of you
words I’d like to hear.
I can’t hope you’ll become
something you are not.
Despite the release,
I'd like to believe
you won’t become
yet another ghost
my words try their best
to understand.
The Restless Crescent 