Sweet Sorrow

You are the tremble when I am alone,
that lingering fear that won’t subside,
the nightmare that intrudes on my sleep,
memories that make me feel sick inside.

the little voice that says I’m not good enough
and will never realize my dreams.
You took the sun, the moon
and the stars from my eyes;
left my heart bursting at the seams.

You are the pain in my children’s sighs
the scars I continue to bear,
the darkness I try to leave behind,
the rumors, the lies, the stares.

You are the misery that pushed me
to finally say goodbye,
the courage to walk out the door
and the desperation to fly.



Look in the Mirror

Pointing fingers,
fingers pointing
to everyone but yourself.
Blame is an easy exit,
no traffic and accessible
from any angle.

What angle
will you access next?

I flick away your daggers
like mosquitos, eyes closed, flailing
until you run out of ammunition,
and just when you think you have me
in a corner, I claw my way out,

bounce back, like your lies will
when truth floats to the surface.

Rumors are superficial
and my skin is getting thick
like the air when you speak,
but, at the end of the day,
we both have mirrors.

What do you see in yours?




It is just so easy with you,
like chords to a familiar song
lyrics sung a thousand times
we never tire of.

Too cliche for poetry,
these sentiments;
this heart,
this touch too natural
for just one life.

That first day –
you, coming down the escalator,
me, waiting
in the little black dress;


always wear waterproof mascara
at airports.

I had never noticed a sunrise
like that one the morning after

and every day since.



Rise and Fall

Before you leave,
fill me

with thoughts;

dance my petals.
Swirl, stream,
flow, flood my mind
with sweet possibilities;

breaths of anticipation
to keep me warm

until stars come.



Saturday, in the Park

It was not
when you picked that flower,

but when you placed it
gently in my hair,
that I knew.



After Midnight

Should I wrap syllables around chords;
adjectives in pirouette, falling softly
in sibilance, would you accompany me
in collaboration, just we two and the stars?


Trimming the Tree

Two days after Thanksgiving,
so I need the step stool to get
last year’s Christmas tree box
from the garage to unwrap my
chubby-cheeked snowmen, red
birds with feet covered in tinsel
and ten or twelve post-a-notes
with addresses I never added to
the Christmas card list. You
put on some hot chocolate with
cinnamon and leftover berry pie
and I’ll get our pj’s and the
Elvis Blue, Blue Christmas cd
and meet you under the tree.