Posts for June 23, 2022 (page 5)

                                             Visiting a friend

				Ours is a some time
				relationship
				that begins 
				with a text or a call.

				It was my call
				that put the spins
				inside me & the skips
				to my rhyme.

				Yes, I was writing poetry,
		    in fact, a poem about you
		    on the weekend.
				I asked if Tuesday

				or Wednesday
				we might spend
				time doing what we do,
				& yes, you said, we

				should.
				I arrive.
				You are in your favorite
				robe-- your hair a mess.

			       	Guess
				what?
				I’ve
				got to get ready. Would

				you forgive us? My son
				& I watched scary movies 
				until three this morning
		   & we overslept.

				I dreamed a provocative dream last  night.

not your jungle rain
southwest moonsoon comes and goes
like your erratic aunt

how many times
do i need to apologize
for the things i didn’t do,
for the ways i could’ve
loved you better,
for the impediments of my being,
of my soul, of my love?
how many times
do i need to utter
these words so that i
can wake up next to you again,
until i can say i love you
& hear your whisper back,
until i can cradle your back,
wrap my arm around you,
& be comforted by my head
on your chest?
what do i need to do
to be able to fool myself
with the masquerade
of your love?
i promise, i’ll do it all

In the dark of the woods
a ray of light shines on the top
of a day lily that has found it’s way
up through an old fence line.
Oh how I wish the whole world could see it!

I love to go for walks, to hike, to enjoy
a bright sunny day and to stop and smell the roses.
My nose, on the hand, hates all of these things.
It constantly complains and sometimes gets my eyes
to agree with its position. I try to appease it, take pills
and feed each nostril with a spray guaranteed
to make it happy. It seldom works
and so I spend my time fighting with a nose
intent on running away from all that I love.

They
say
that
the 
Great
Lakes
were
made
by
a
ser-
ies
of
mov-
ing
gla-
ciers
and
a
vi-
o-
lent
vol-
can-
ic
e-
rup-
tion.

It is a furious battle
a futile fight

We bleed on the ones
who did not cut

and long for those
who left us battered

it is a curious thing
to hate oneself

and long to be loved
by others

I sing at ongoing traffic

Pick it up, pick it up said Tommy Greene
after throwing a penny on the floor
I knew not what he meant
but I was soon schooled  

At eleven I discovered someone’s
opinion of me could change
in the time it took to throw
that penny

From not knowing to knowing
what made me different
other
the one not like the rest  

Set apart for
my hair that would not be straight
my face that did not conform
my eyes so brown not blue
my ancestry  

Eleven the first time I heard it
Dirty Jew, to the ovens with you

her body is
not your
cargo ship   

you do not
get to decide  

when it sets sail
where it docks
what cargo it carries