A father shapes and molds his daughter.
A husband ought polish his wife.
But, only when a woman realizes her worth and value
will she shine beautifully.

Somewhere between a bicycle
and a seat at a daydream...

I had to make money
so I mortgaged
my woods, my sea, my music
Words--
left
Regaled only with rust
my 1938 Columbia
bike
(sold for a crib)
to an antique dealer

Fat-tires, red-faded fenders
Baskets saddled on wheel
for towel and lunch
Key chain dangling
jingling against jar
of cool ginger ale

Look back at the baskets-filled
afternoons at the park
I was a poet
The road
laid itself bare
For my bike
and I
scrolling through leaves
like words that fell
like hair across shoulders
that I sang to no one

the audience--  
air
I know that now
I was not really…
nor ready

I once was a poet
_

This poem was based on a black and white photo of Harry Bertschmann as a young artist,
posed proudly by his magnificent work.  First two lines of my poem were my immediate reaction to his painting.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/05/nyregion/the-struggling-artist-at-86.html

when my best friend told me
“when i love someone,
i am going to to love them
with everything inside of me”
i finally felt understood
because i did love her
with everything inside of me
i don’t know how to not
and that’s the thing about me
i am an all or nothing
kind of girl
if i love you
i will love every part of you
with my whole being
i will become blind by love
that is not to say
i am not scared
i am terrified
because i know
that if this love ends
it will break me
because if i have given you
every part of me
will you ever be able to
give it all back when
you are done using it
and that is why i never
let myself love before you
i thought you would be more careful
because i explained this all to you
but love is not careful
love is fragile and breakable
and if i had to have my heart broken
i am still glad
it was by you

it felt good
to feel wanted
and feel beautiful
and feel good enough
and feel confident
it feels good
for you
to not be
the last person i kissed

Do you think a girl could love a boy who writes for her a million poems?  That's what I plan to do.

now that you are gone
i feel this sudden urge
to let you read my poetry
i want you to know
how much i loved you
how much i cared about you
how i wrote your eyes
into constellations
hoping that if i
was able to write it down
i would be able to hold onto it
and i want you to know
that you hurt me
but more than that
i want you to know
that i forgive you
that i am not angry
or bitter
that we do not have to be
a souring fruit
and i want you to have
the moments i have penciled
into my memory
because, darling,
there are poems
that only you
will ever be able to understand

and when she told me
"it can only get better from here"
i wanted to call her a liar
i wanted to scream
because no,
it won't always get better
and there will be days
when it feels like
the first day all over again
and days where i do not
even think of her
healing is not linear
progress is not a straight line
and when she told me
"things can only get better"
i understood
that she had never felt heartbreak
she has never has the solid floor
crumble underneath her without a warning
and i wonder
if you ever really heal from heartbreak
or if you just turn it into other things
because how can i ever heal from you
i will never forget about us
that is not to say
i don't think it will get easier
but i wonder if i will ever feel
whole again
without the piece of me
i have given to you

I'm jealous of the rain
It gets close to you
Closer than I ever will
It touches your skin
It combs your hair
It comes when you're sad
It stays when you're happy
I love you but you don't love me
So I say
I'm jealous of the rain