Watching the Clock

Love

is a drug

that just keeps on giving

despite its worth,

commercialized

side effects

how to handle

a man

one on one

a manual

I was never given–

where is it?

 

The time I found

the nail

and all I wanted

was a hammar

to put me back in my place

I found you,

instead–

eyes glazed over

from the fact

that I was a well enabled

woman

to kick your ass

back to second base

 

Just tell me a story,

dear Love,

of how you existed

among priests

and kings

and witches

and me,

stories of younger days

past narratives

water drowning

my teacup

and all I want is an answer,

or at least the right question,

’cause I know I’m responsible

for making something–

more than this house

all alone,

wondering what time

to expect Love

to come

knocking on my door.

 

November 24, 2015

Like I Love Myself

Every time

the moon moves

my heart seems to be

in a different place…

 

And yet

the one place

I know that it will stay

is the most important–

 

Indefinitely.

 

Whoever will love me

like I love myself

but better–

that is who will stay.

 

That’s who

I will keep in my front pocket,

my golden chain, my heart

beating into an infinity

that is a too-soon,

 

Not-enough-time kind of love.

 

Until then,

I have the better–

well, the best–

things:

life,

love,

 

And me.

 

March 11, 2015

The Shore

We’re all

on a journey

to let go.

 

Who said

that the cat’s in the cradle

when my arm’s in a sling

with my head wrapped down

like four corners of a box

under the tree?

 

I can break a limb

but not my heart—

and God forbid my mind.

 

When flashbacks come to me

like scenes from a movie

and all I can think is,

“Was that me yesterday

or 7 years ago?”

 

Could it be both?

 

Could it be

that our “selves”

are continually packaged,

not perfectly with a bow

but pinned down like craft paper,

a collage of foam

on the edge of the wave

that must crash down

before we reach the shore?

August 7, 2014

Let Me Write A Poem

If not a love song, let me write a poem

For now under nightly stars,

Their shine flowing out

Of my dark-tipped pen

Onto the empty page.

The moon will shape notes

Onto paper until I can hum along,

Ride the coach my horses draw,

Paint the portraits lovers saw

Together, in silence.

I shall remain content

In my lonely-letter looks;

I shall keep my ink bleeding

And carry my heart to the next suitor.

April 18, 2014