There's half a bottle of wine the fridge
and a lifetime of worry in my bones.
I'm being dramatic, maybe, surely
when there's all those kids
starving over there in Africa.
My sister studied great whites there
without a college degree.
What did I want when I was eighteen?
We are all so sure, aren't we.
I lost my motivation
as easily as a senile old man loses his shoe.
It is there, somewhere, I know it.
And the longer I look
the more frantic I become.
And there are days when not caring
seems okay.
They shouldn't tell us
we can all become doctors
and home owners, actors,
professional chefs, humanitarians.
I wished for something I didn't know
I didn't want.
And what do I wish for now
but a happiness that exists
at the end of a dog's leash.
Is mindfulness or oblivion a better choice?
The answer is not at the bottom of a bottle
but in this case
it is only half full
so what is the harm.

Fell in love again.
It was beautiful I suppose.
Wild at the very least.
He's gone now but my heart remembers.
He made me dance
and that's all there was to it.

Walked to the river
through a barbed wire fence and down
a game trail. Yesterday in a bathing suit,
today boots, a wind breaker.
Yesterday, you on my mind.
Today, you on my mind.
Forgetting us slowly.

She thinks about men often.
The way some people think about death.
Doing dishes,
falling asleep wrapped in a comforter somebody gave her.
One in particular, this town
reminds her of him.
Hazel eyes, pools of honey, a field glowing,
cooling in the sunset.
She knew of his departure before
she knew she wanted to kiss his clean mouth.
And still
there was pain, exquisite
at the heart of things.
Laughter on clear winter nights,
warming her hands beneath his arms.
She watches wildflowers begin to bloom
in the meadow and feels
the whisper of him inside her.

She looks at him and wonders if
his long nose and fox eyes exist only for her.
Lovers made her laugh once.
She felt what it was like to touch the stars and share
secrets among frozen vegetables, dancing to
a song that was neither the singing nor the singer.
She thought she understood why the sun rose
in the east, why at a certain degree water forms crystals.
She thought she knew how to hold on and how to let go.
An ego death, a budding,
something so new it was like explaining
orange to a blind man.
His clean hands on the ridge of her spine,
trying to describe him with her fingers, silence exploding
in her, honey burning her tongue.
A bird can only see the world below her nest until
she discovers she has wings.

We wake up and plan
to smile at strangers,
and hold the door open,
and say no to anger.

But then there's traffic,
and road rage and red lights,
and cut-offs and cuss-outs,
daydreaming of fights.

Our destination is reached,
and our hands are in fists,
we stomp down the halls,
and crash by accident.

Coffee spills, papers scatter,
faces red, eye contact made,
thoughts are racing, anger raising,
a small flame ignites great hate.

We watch the scene
play in our head,
like directing a movie
and take one is red.

It's yelling and screaming,
insulting and punching,
automatic desire,
but solving nothing.

Aren't we lucky
we aren't bound by our thoughts?
We might be tempted,
but slaves we are not.

Aren't we lucky
if take one leads to
mistakes or trouble
we can choose a take two?

"I'm just worried about you after I leave"
He lifted his eyes, hazel, wolf-like, only after he spoke.

She laughed,
curling her bare legs beneath her on his bed, feeling
her wetness. "Don't worry about me"
she said.
"Come here"

He crawled over to her and they lay
holding each other atop the blankets.
She ran her tongue along his back to taste him,
knowing she could never say what she wanted to.

Instead - "I'm just happy to have known you"
whispered into tufts of his blond hair.