Title: Banking on It

When I met you, out went the memory blanks,
replaced by memories banked for triumphant times like
births and exotic vacation resorts. Before that, though,
we had to navigate smoky carpets and dirty dishes
catching downward messages of how we
recovered each other from our old lives
gone black.

Investments, now, will save us
from not having that RV life we dream of,
where we will drive across statelines to our
next destination of together forever, beyond.

Title: Illusionism

Whichever way his mischievous grin sat on his lips,
I seemed to disappear into barely audible whispers of caution and resistance.
Then reemergence. Then relief.

(Peek-a-boo is more than a sexy grown-up game of lingerie beyond innuendo.)

The sudden tragedy of newness is the realization that it's no longer new, but now,
something else must be kept and held close.

To disappear hesitation,
to reappear a smile of certainty.

Title: Prints

We were typical,
the story of how we folded into each other during a time
when love was all that was around
to be given. Honestly, neither of us
was smooth, stuttering
to ourselves under our breath, trying to
stand casual. I tried to wipe away tears,
you tried to stay away. Typical.

Now, not so.

Every morning, an I-love-you.
Every sneeze, an I-love-you.
Every night, an I-love-you, seeyouinthemorning.

We've dropped these pins of ourselves from California to Canada,
with this vow: We shan't live alone again. Til death,
even that will never us part. Together,

our light will rise softly,
filter through the blind,
young new lovers folding into each other will linger
on our soul's embrace.

Title: Steps to get to here.

Start with one foot underneath you after you've fallen, hard. And take a while to think about how much that hurt, and why.
Then notice
the green of the leaves above, the grey of the sidewalk beneath. The hardness, the cool.

You sit a while, you forget to breathe.

You stand up, slowly, and suddenly you might dance. Your back is not wracked with the aches that became your friends when you had no one else to talk with.

Next time you stumble, you will have a hand to grab onto, to steady
And you'll find yourself

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

full moon

Title: Salt

You believe that this moisture beading on my palm
is the Universe evolving us into fluidity. We’ve been made
to melt.

I catch the tear before it slips from the corner of your eye.
My salt on yours.




We’ve recollected all our clichés and built a solid foundation with them.
I found a stray one in the corner,
under dust and hair, something my sister taught me
on her wedding day. I was her flower girl, and I carried a plastic bouquet.
I kept it on my dresser in a white vase,
until the day she found out
and hid in a basement full of rats so she could find out more.
That day, I became older, and I put the bouquet in my mother’s closet
in a box of Christmas decorations.

There’s my cliché.

We can beat the odds.
My salt on yours.
  • Current Mood
    accomplished accomplished

Title: Water Stain

Water stain on my wall
bloomed like two passing clouds over sunset
above my boxes of essays, drafts, and other anonymous important stuff.
The brown outline hangs over files not filed on time,
pushed through with backdates and anachronistic signatures.
It is so heavy, that stain.

Stretched out over a line where the drywall grew out,
impatient construction seeping denial over inevitability.

A broken air conditioner keeps guard.
An empty plastic container waits.

I can't think of how to scrub it away.
  • Current Mood
    depressed depressed

Title: 40 Days

The city has separation anxiety over the sun.
A steady cadence of remembrance of long days,
stretched out over mountains, condos, sandy banks,
and tattered volleyball nets, and paths wrapping around
feet pounding from shade to shade.

Where did it go? What will we do
now that we live with water resistance all over?

We clean ourselves. It is time.
Back to watching trickles into gutters and drains,
waiting under awnings til it's safe to come out again.
  • Current Mood
    blah blah

Title: Fairytale

It's okay to feel that way again, she said,
to close your eyes and think of his smile, and the dimple on the left side,
and his bright eyes looking at you in the way you like to be looked at,
to think of the way his finger touches your nose,
when the feeling is too big to contain--
it's okay to feel that flush of warmth, those pins and needles that come on
all of a sudden to make you think that fairies are dancing on your skin,
she said.

She asked me if I could remember when I was a little girl,
when I couldn't imagine a time when I would need to be rescued
but I imagined that a prince charming would be waiting for me
if the time would come. I told her I've never forgotten,
even after all this time.

when he looks at me and asks me to let him look at me that way
when he touches my nose and smiles and shakes his head in disbelief
when he takes me in his arms and holds me and there's nothing else in the world
when it's just us
I let the fairies dance
and I'm okay.
  • Current Mood
    loved loved