hide the knives,
put them away,
so I may live
another day.

and so you sweetly said to me upon the fireside,
"take care my dear, for souls like ours have withered up and died."

and even great romancers of the holy scriptures say,
"take care,
take care,
take care,
take care,
take care and live the day."

I never did believe that I'd retire in the sky
but live my next life in the air, a dainty butterfly

but just in case I pass away and turn back into dust
take care,
take care,
take care,
take care,
I know I really must

Flower on water
Please give me strength to cope
With things I have said

You held me in the darkness.
We talked away the pain.
I sang the tune without the words,
And filled the sky with rain.

We danced among our manic storm,
Connected at the soul.
Shaking our heads to static thought
From men with hearts of coal.

Even in the stillest days,
An earthquake rests inside.
A rumbling, crumbling, mumbling mess
I thought I'd never hide.

And now I know I never will;
You've shown me the light.
No beauty from the brightest day
Can compare to the dark of night.

Thank you for existing,
For choosing just to be.
Since I'll be infinitely listing:
Thanks for loving me.

when people find out that I'm depressed
they say they never would have guessed

that one so lively and so sweet
would slice through her skin in hushed defeat

they ask me "how does one so great
decide there's no happiness in her fate?"

to which I say, "where flowers grow
are any plucked before the tortured rose?"

hello there icy wind
who hasn't kissed me since April
& left completely by May
still you have the audacity
to blow
me
away

sometimes people
carry weight
& the ones who don't
pick up
the baggage
to ease the aching back
of the one they hold most dear
& that
is
love

I'm trying to remember
The words my father wrote.

He was a poet, in earlier days.
When he lived my lifetime once,
(Now he's lived it three-or-so times over.)

And I remember one day finding the words he wrote,
Photocopied onto bright white paper.

And it was then that I first realized how much I am like my father.

His words then held just as much as my words do now--

As much love,
As much anger,
As much confusion,
And, at times, as much hate.

And now that I feel lost and alone, I try to dig up the pages
That were haphazardly tucked in-between the leafs of a novel, I think

Or maybe an atlas,
Or maybe in a drawer,
Or maybe under the bed...

Behind the bookshelf?
In a photo album?
In a book
Any book
In the kitchen
Above the fridge
In a box
This box
Not this box
That box
Not that box
Any box,
Try any box,
Every box --


Which brings me to now.

Now I sit here, on the kitchen floor
Stirring my lukewarm chamomile,
Watching the air,
And the clock,
Breathing deeply through my mouth,
Holding back any sound

Searching through my head
To remember the words he wrote
Long ago
That somehow might make me feel my father's comforting smile
Now.

"Read more. Write more."
That's what Doctor said.
Doctor is my therapist.

He says, "You are not alone. Many have felt this way before, and many have also thought themselves mad. And that's why I'm here. You are not alone."

I think
It's *******.

Doctor doesn't know what he's talking about.

Read more? Write more?

How can I read when my eyes touch a page and then fall to the ground?
How can I write when none of the words I think can make it past my mouth?

How can anything be normal, be fine?

Doctor says I'm not alone, but I find that hard to believe.

"Doctor," I say, rubbing my sore crown, "no matter how often you say that, I still feel alone."

He nods his head. "And what of your friends?"

I shake mine. "They don't like me."

"And what of your husband?"

"Doesn't love me."

"And what of your parents?"

"Don't need me -- they have my sister."

Doctor nods and glances at the clock. "Well, our time is almost up. Any last thoughts?"

I don't change my gaze, which rests on the cactus plant sitting above the fake fireplace.

"No."

After we dined, showered, and made love,
You fell asleep, on the left side of the bed.
Though tired too, well, I like to watch
Your face as it moves
When you breathe
(your chest rises too,
And sometimes you twitch,
And honestly, I find it cute).

And as I watch you here,
My one and only
Who lights up at the sight of me
And has already decided the names of our children,
And already loves them
Just as much as he loves me,

I wonder, my darling,

When the love will run

Out

shhh.*

I'm here.
I'm here.

cry or don't,
breathe and keep breathing.

that wasn't very fun, huh?
when I got so sad you nearly punched the bedpost
and cursed your mind
and clawed your smile.

and I sat there like a used towel
crumpled,
wrinkled,
damp

but it's okay, anyways.

even though we cry
and you hate your name
and I imagine worse quarrels while I'm still as a rock

--yet tender as an oyster

frail as a bubble

ready to pop.

but it's okay, anyways.

days like this
come and go

like winter to spring
like houses from stone

shhh.

I'm here.
I'm here.

cry or don't,
breathe and keep breathing.
for all we know, tomorrow is spring.

and I'm here.

*I'm here.

he
kisses my hair
and touches my neck
moving in me,
moving me,
(the wilted flower)
(the crumbling rose).

you found me
sitting in the corner of the kitchen, knees pulled in.

"you know,
I feel
alone."

except for these voices
that scream, "ours, ours, ours! tie her up, eat her whole, don't let her go!"

I am a ghost,
(pieces of a face),
and now that I've found you
I beg you: don't leave me in this empty place.

remove the nets,
the choking rope,
hold me in your heart, hold me in your arms,

kiss my hair,
touch my neck,
move in me,
*move me

Once you gave me roses,
Yellow pink and red.
You cooked me up a dinner,
You talked me into bed.

But now it's only poppies
I'm given, if at all.
If you noticed I was slipping,
Would you let me fall?

Let me bring you coffee.
Let me cuff your sleeves.
Say you'll always love me.
Say you'll never leave.

Say you'll always need me.
Promise that you'll try.
Revive me if I'm silent,
Don't just let me die.

Remember when we twisted?
Remember when we sighed?
We slept, and then we didn't.
We laughed, and then we cried.

Or maybe I was crying.
It really got me down
That, when you saw me treading,
You left me there to drown.

You tell me that I'm pretty,
You tell me that I'm kind,
You say it's never-ending,
I'm always on your mind.

But no matter all the poppies
You give me by and by,
If my wrists were bleeding,
You would let me die.

I went to the river with my father.

He pointed and said, "look at the water.
Notice how it flows,
Like all things flow.
Like the words from my lips,
They drop
And drip
After flowing from the ocean in my head."

And we walked down to the riverbed,
And there we stood
Deep in the wood
Pondering how things flow and flood.

I'd give thee a lifetime, if given the chance,
Of all the love that rests in my heart.
I'd promise forever in pure romance
And wait for our life together to start.

But shall this fantasy our future be?
Yes, know we cannot, but, love, why not dream?
Or simply live this certain travesty
That comes with old Father Time's twisted schemes?

For winds may shake our dreams of enjoyment,
And cometh storms we can't seem to weather,
But know I'd accept full employment
To a journey we could take together.

                 For now, only simple dreams our love can be,
                 But don't let go, for I've left my heart with thee.

Why would he remember?
The times we kissed
And he held me
Inside his arms.

And I was young and lovely then,
Last year.
And I was loved and lively then.
And he was mine and I was his.

I was his lovely, breathtaking, ravishing creature.

Why would he remember?

Why would he look back and sigh at times when I
Discreetly shut my eyes
And fell asleep.
And he would watch me in his lap and feel somewhat mesmerized.

Tell me
The color of my eyes.

Did he forget my eyes?

The very ones he said he'd fight for,
Live for,
Die for.
They're still the same old eyes.

What color are her eyes?

And did he forget my smile?
I forgot my smile.
I left back in your room on your bed or in your car on the backseat or in the window seat where we watched the rain.
Or maybe it got twisted up in your curls,
Or between the sheets where we'd spend days
And nights,
Or maybe on the flight of stairs --
The ones you sat me down on and we said words and you
Stopped
Remembering me.

Maybe you'll find it there.

Though it could be anywhere.

And frankly
I want to forget
Too.

Watching lovers walk in the winter,
Kissing away the cold,
Slipping past those who grumble at the snow
And ice.

For, winter’s for the lovers.
The frosty windows,
The warm drink recipe for two,

His scarf, knitted by her.
Her hat, which hides her hair, curled with wonder and charisma.

And they are warmed by these hats
And scarves
And gloves –

But also by each other,
The excitement,
The love.

Winter’s for the lovers.
And the he’s and he’s and she’s and she’s and him and her –
They aren’t cold or wet or tired.

They’re only his and his and hers and hers and his and hers.
And the snow is too lovely not to share.

We approached the counter, side by side.

I said, “Ladies first.”

And, with a trickle of a smile and just a bit of teeth, she said, “I’ll have a café breve.”
The words left her lips in a solid, confident tone, yet they brushed my ears like a whisper.

I must have ordered the same, because that is what I got.

And we sat down in the plush brown chairs and she let her amber hair free from its tight bun.

And we sat. And we spoke.
I spoke of nothingness, I’m sure.

For that is what I remember – nothing.

But she spoke of her dreams, her future plans, her summer plans, her favorite colors and why they were the prettiest.
She spoke of smaller things, like the weather, her chair and why it was so wobbly.
And though it was casual and carefree, I couldn't help but be bewildered by the beauty she bore.

The simple beauty that hides behind closed door and open-mouthed laughs.

And we did this all as we sipped our drinks, gulping down the vague design in the coffee and steamed milk.

And, setting down her mug, I noticed she’d left a smear of crimson on the edge.

And as I stared at the lipstick settled on the rim, I quietly took in the rest of our surroundings –

The frosted windows,
The scent of fresh coffee and pastries,
The lonely barista, who was currently changing the background music CD from electro to smooth jazz.

And as the music began again, so did she.
And the whisper of her voice was like the whisper of the cymbals,
Ringing in time to the beat of the song.