Always East

Who now is thirsty for tomorrow?
I am! I am!

While my immersion in the moment allowed the universe to gift me with one Delighted poet

Happy for him whilst pushing through my pain

I am in love with now’s sorrow

Shall I claim it again?
I am thirsty for tomorrow!

Wordgirl

It will disappoint you to find, today I have nothing to say to you

Except that I am healing

And I’ve hung a do not disturb sign on my heart, so to that end, beside my bedside — a candle that smells like the sun

But too, our beach and the suntan lotion I smoothed onto your skin well over a year ago

Well into the midnight hour, it burned, and I felt like the irresponsible teen-aged girl I was when we met

Read: Carefree

Good timing, for today is to be an unseasonably warm December day

Without a coat, I’ll work out the difficult feelings while out in the yard, raking one last time before the snow flies

When the last of those magnolia leaves fall later this coming week, I won’t give a damn

I’ll be busy recalling the days when you cared to caution me to please drive safely in the snow

You didn’t want to lose me to accident or injury — you’ve forgotten that, but I forgive you

Silently in my head, I pray these days for your safety too, knowing you never thought much of my prayers

Or my help

Or my written and spoken and demonstrated sentiment

Or my too-small home, where I tried to keep us well

And Christmas is coming

And you won’t be here

And I may mail you a gift and a card, because, after all, I love you more today than I did yesterday, or the day before

My gift and my card would convey this, plus give you one last opportunity before year’s end to ignore again my olive branch

I’m looking forward to the coming decade, despite that it’s looking like I won’t know you then

About your birthdays, I’ll still celebrate them

I woke up at 2am to tell you, I have nothing left to tell you that I’ve not been sure to have already said

A wordgirl gone reluctantly silent with you

Accept that I am healing

Clean

See me
A junkie
Watery-eyed and shiftless

The voice in my head ruthless
Hope supply torn from my veins
Disoriented and in slow-motion

I know not what to do
But hunger and shake
And wait to be clean of you

Safe Distance

Additionally, I admit I awaited it
The other shoe to drop

It was me, my fault
Believing too big always

The ’72 Nova Super Sport
Traded before I became of age

The certainty I saw in unions
Disproved before my very eyes

Muscle cars and you and me
Crashed before together began

Difficult Art

All the nonsense to receive
Mantas and tenets rising up
Ancient foundations to revere
What architects are responsible?

Live right, I accept
Love well, all the more

But call me not lover for a season
God didn’t build me to let go
If He tells me He did
I’ll tell Him He’s a liar

Time

Do you, as I, daily perform an unending juggling act with the hours, grasping at fleeting minutes, feeling, by sundown, famished for time?

Who of us doesn’t wish to artfully turn the wretched clock into origami art that would sit silent and still on the wall and evidence beauty instead of lack?

Were it possible, I would wave my surely magic arms, and weave into the moments a stop gate, then take eternity to tell you, thank you, you were right, and I love you.

Fireworks, Baby

Count yourself among the many
Who do not care to consider my midnight musings of any value
To know my heart-wrenching pleas for your return
Sent unrequited out

But what you need know
My last diary entry was a mid-summer date
Immediately before the fireworks, but after my hope expired
Your birthday, baby