Notice me. Working quietly
to serve you. Fall for
silence. Not much more
than a pile of dirty
dishes, an unswept floor.
Hold me like I’m warm
from the dryer, inside
out and needing
my wrinkles rubbed
smooth. It’s hard
to love a chore.
But do it every day
and your hands
become practiced.
Autistic offspring
My little love kept me from
Writing on this trip
Yet his love is mine
I live to make him happy
Perfect little boy
I wrote several
poems during our stay
together. But I
never imagined having
to reread them
when you were gone.
Wishing so badly
to relive the little moments
I found worthy
of documenting.
Wanting so badly
to smack my
not much younger self
as I stay
dreaming
of you patting my back
just one more time.
I should start taking my coffee black,
let its bitterness bite, sink caffeinated canines
deep into bleary-eyed morning haze,
upset the daily ritual of waking
from recurring nightmares
and taking stock of my teeth.
Sometimes a word is just begging to be used
But it rarely provides the context for you
I’ve added it to the proverbial checklist
Just after the dishes, and a shower
There’s never enough free time
I just need to be comfortable
Maybe after I fold my shirts
Far too many wrinkles
This tea needs more
Of what I can’t say
Why is it so hot
Yet I’m frigid?
I just can’t
Not yet
Wait
Oh
.
.
.
Sometimes a word finds you
as a kid, i remember running
after fireflies at dusk,
and these specks
of lightning were a brilliant
yellow, like the sun had fallen
to the Earth
but now, the sky is dark
and their little lights
are a dull green, a young
bud ready to be chased after,
but i fear this is only the beginning
of their fading color
Beneath the saline waters
along the abyssal plains,
below where light descends,
that’s where my soul remains.
No coral reef gives anchor –
no algal bloom, disguise.
No guideposts dot the sea floor;
only dolphins cloud the sky.
Brittle stars wave & spin
before hippocamps parade –
a sea goat leads a motley pack
of fish-tailed beasts at play.
They pull & push, toss & turn,
disrupt the flow toward shore,
but waves will never break
this deep; it is still no more.
When this is over, I promise to stretch my
arms out and embrace you, not just
your handsome parts, your pleasant mannerisms,
but even your shadows, even your scars,
whether there are clouds or sunshine.
When this is over, I promise to be
more patient with you, to talk more slowly,
to rise closer to dawn than dusk,
to be close to your heart and body
without crowding your mental space.
When this is over, I promise to caress
every inch of your body, whether you can
physically feel it or not. I promise to
be more of my own person
while still being with you.
I longed to straighten the hem of a lady’s skirt
make something right on this day
Trying to meet your eyes with mine
over all of the unfamilar heads
reading the cards on the flowers
thinking of my own father, my own mother
what I wished I had done differently
feeling your grief and nursing mine, too
wading through the small talk
for Andy
