A Place for My Poems to Live

‘Just like a dream’
is what the song says,
But I don’t feel it,
or trust, really,
that dreams come true anymore.
Instead, I imagine
that one just finally
comes to terms with how things are
and how they will always be.
The ones who accept it,
and decide to cooperate,
are the ones who later forget
their original desire
and instead falsely claim that the
reality they found
was the dream they dreamed.

silence
sometimes the only thing desired
sometimes the last.
i’ve lost my ability to write, momentarily…
not due to the lack of tragedy,
but more to the intensity of it.
in this minute I will allow myself to feel it.
but only this minute.
and maybe another. later.
for now there are groceries to buy
rent to pay
emails to send
precious children to retrieve
and futures to determine.
so forgive my non poetry today.
life and the lack of it got in the way.

pink floyd
and an air potato
thrown from hand to hand.

orange cones block lanes
while older children wait for the bell.

siblings dangle  from SUV windows
shout from car to car

one slip and
down
the
hole
we
fall.

there are times
like now
when i think it was all for nothing
when i think i can’t do it after all
when i’m sure the
me that i found
wasn’t worth the search.

and i don’t mean to invite you in
to my exclusive party of pity and pain
but you’re here
like i knew you would be
like you always are.
like i can’t let you be forever.

I touch your face
in bed,
the morning after,
and speak of ownership.
A tease.
As you bristle
involuntarily,
I make a joke
and giggle,
so as not to
alert your
reflex of flight.

Traipsing around the
foot of the bed,
I touch yours.
And trace your silhouette
up the slight curve
of your long body.
You smile your smile.
“I like that,”
you say.
But you
don’t
feel
me.

Why does it hurt
that you finally agree
with what I’ve been telling you
all
along?

Red cups are back
and all I think of
is you.
Antonio, Anastasia
fairy tale stories
and chilly gray days.
Peeking through blinds
at a million
tiny flakes.
Our white breath
inside your
black car.
Talks of slippery ice
and buildings
full of old men
and Glocks.

Gallons of coffee.
Miles of books.

Hours of metal men
cooking on teevee.
Electric blankets
and
morning headaches.
Basements full of
dark corners,
flashing bulbs,
thumping hearts,
and a
naughty chair.

All this and so much more
in a
red cup.

Never make the mistake
of thinking that I
will forget.

Accusations,
innuendos,
thrown,
and caught.
Reflex.
Chucked
and tossed
at bystanders,
the ones who
don’t suspect.
Lesson learned,
I should have
seen
I’d be the one
up
next.
You asked me
to write one
for you.
Well here you go.
Respect.

(written 2/2008)

divorced male
christian.
looking for a
godly wife,
a best friend,
a quiet nighttime hand holder.
funny how,
when,
in the whole world,
that’s all i wanted to be,
you weren’t looking for me
at
all.

and now the angry version…

divorced
(left stranded and all alone to suffer)
male
(i have the penis so you will do as i say)
christian
(better than everyone else and don’t you forget it, they’re all a bunch of sinful worms and we are superior)
looking for a
godly woman
(clean up, spotless, smile all the time, don’t you dare complain or question, make sure you entertain all the church folk and convert the rest, your family will eventually come around and if they don’t they’ll just have to rot, won’t they?)
best friend
(or at least make it appear that you are, we’ll laugh at the right times and share knowing looks… i have no idea what you like just as long as you think the same thing i do about the bible and child rearing)
quiet nighttime hand holder
(quiet being the key word, don’t talk to your sister too much, you get rowdy and that’s not ladylike… oh and i may ignore you all day until the last 10 minutes before bed, so you better get ready for some emotionless intercourse)
I wanted that
more than anything
(until I knew what it was)

sunday church
white robes
cold water.
a new spiritual mother
unprompted.
the beginning
of bibles
brides
babies
and
bitterness.
no regrets,
only
lessons learned
about
god
grace
gumption
and
gossip.
a date
of remembrance,
not of sins
covered,
but
sins
committed.
pity.