Am I?
One day late, I am... but Am I......
Let's see.
Drive down. Thank you for shopping, have a nice night. Drive up.
Am I?
Fiddle and fumble and fluster the box.
Am I?
Okay, here are the instructions. Stream or cup?
Stream or cup? It didn't occur to me that that was a decision.
Cup it is.
Waiting.
Am I?
Am I?
Am I?
I'm probably not, but what if I was? Would I? Could I? Should I?
Whew.
I'm not.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
BANGBANGBANG.
Huh?
BANGBANGBANG.
My ribs are taut.
Stay put, they seem to say.
But I can't stay put. Because nothing will ever be the same. The inside jokes, the laughs, the fantasies of an affordable four person flat--
No turning back. You can't swallow back those yells. You can't bite back the curses. You can't reach back your fists from the glass. You can't narrow the widened eyes, steady the shaking limbs, slow the shallow breathing of seven onlookers.
That's it. And I thought that was it.
But now I don't know if it is.
I'm waiting for another
BANGBANGBANG.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
The ugliest person is a monster.
His talons taunt and tease.
He waits for a hint of weeping.
He cackles at your misery.
The ugliest person is a scuttling bug.
She sneaks and snoops and snarls
She's just too close and just too far
To resolve her started quarrels.
The ugliest person doesn't think
The others need to eat and drink
His only concern is his own name in ink.
The ugliest person feeds you a stew
With a drip of her and a drip of you
Stirs and simmers until you want it too.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
It'll take 35 minutes
He said an hour and a half ago.
So we walk and walk.
The grass at the edge of the road is hardly grass at all.
It looks so pleasant from a car, whizzing by in a green-brown stripe.
But beneath your aching sandals it's more gravel than grass.
We listen for cars, and when one comes by, we can't look at each other
Only at the other person's ankles.
There's no impatience quite like boredom
And there's no boredom quite like watching the next street sign
Getting closer so slowly.
Three becomes two when two sit to rest.
But they go on.
The banter of three becomes the conversing of two.
Then the inevitable question:
Can you keep a secret?
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
Who is that?
Who is that?
That's not the one who always forgets about the crooked step at the bottom.
Not the one who checks that the screen door shut all the way.
Or the one who always uses the railing.
What business does that person have with them?
What brings this mysterious figure into their house?
The house
with
the crumbling chimney
and the second story window off to one side
making the house look like
a cat with one eye.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
You used to crave me.
I was fresh from the oven
Still steaming
Sauce dripping
You could smell each spice individually
You noticed the garnish
You were there to check on me before the timer went off
Unable to wait,
You'd take the first slice
Sauce smeared on your face
Fork and knife a blur
Second and third helpings were a given
And you were sure to order it the next night
You'd lick your plate clean
You'd lick the serving dish
Never a scrap went to waste
But lately you accept a polite portion
You wait until the right moment to lift your knife and fork
Your tiny bites aren't enough to appreciate robust flavor and savory scent
Your left-behind scraps contain the new spice that you failed to notice
You leave another meal's worth of leftovers in the pan
It sits and watches as the refrigerator door opens and closes
You'll pick at it
Eat a slice with your main dish
The scraps at the bottom aren't edible by the time you get to them
And you're in no hurry to start again
The spices aren't tempting you from the cabinet
You don't see the sauce in every plump vegetable you see
You don't get hungry just by catching a glance of the recipe or the oven or the carving knife
Who knows the next time you'll have a taste.
Your oven is cold, your whisk and spatula sparkling clean, and the sauce splatters have faded from your shirts.
Your tongue seems to have forgotten.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
Touch my tender skin
feel my warmth within
trust me to take in
your message given
cannot hide my grin
won’t be mistaken
let me tuck you in
not into cotton
but into our skin
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC