Reverse (a poem)

I wish I could reverse the hands on the clock

erase the night when we danced

in your living room

fireworks blooming in flowers of sparks

shy smiles over glasses of wine

and fine art

no trace of what became Us

fingers interwoven

joined.

Two open bowls of berries and cream

something that could be broken,

spoiled.

I would make myself someone bland

a comfortable face in your office

trading humor in the break room

an easy friend

for barbecue parties

and group nights

an apple in your fruit bowl

shirt hanging in your closet.

Oh look, it’s 9am

and there she sits

open-faced, waiting

someone you turn to to share stories

revel in your travels

your triumphs

confess your frustrations

release pieces of your spirit

and not

someone you would

leave.

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Two Small Words (a poem)

Today

The universe breathed your name

(the car you drive

the foods you eat

a sport you love)

and two small words

Hey you.

So tiny, innocent

written by the wrong hand

but in my mind

your voice

as clear as a summer sky

shines over the desert

that familiar lilt and cadence

Hey you.

The sweet, sharp heartache

of missing home

tiny razor nicks

Hey you.

Your strong arms around me

the wind carrying your scent

on two words

like wings

Too Much Like Water (a poem)

(I wrote this poem tonight, though it has been in my heart since a friend (or one I thought was a friend) stopped being a friend. What makes a person decide to stop being a friend? What makes a person decide to stay? What do we do with the unanswered questions that haunt us? Was it something I did? Was it something about me? About us? All I can do is turn my obsessions to poetry.)

Too Much Like Water

Maybe I was too thirsty
and you heard the rasp and rattle
when I spoke
with words unused too long.
Maybe I was too much rain
crystal, pouring drops
flooding shallow banks
too soon.
Or together, two strong rivers
flowing, roiling, pushing
for the narrow neck
to the wide, vast sea
Or you, like ice
(like me)
unyielding
ungiving
Or we, a stream
that rippled toward the sun
whose hissing touch
left us only vapor.