Isn’t it interesting how some people are caught up in their dream world?
Broadcasting “Life Is Good” …unaware of those living in the real world.
Self indulging humans only thinking of themselves,
When there so much they could contribute to those that lack wealth.

For God sake, get off Facebook and make a difference in someone’s life.
Share your heart with them and help them wipe the tears from their eyes.
Put some greenbacks in their pocket; be there often to be a mentor and a best friend.
And maybe someday you’ll help them ascend to the life is good trend.

Step over the threshold
And through the front hall
Full of shoes and possibilities.
Come to a kitchen table
Able to shed the cold
And unroll your soul
Against it's worn and warm knots,
Flavoured with cookies and coffee mugs
And echoes of late chats and early plans
and sneak-behind hugs.
Let the love that pools here soak
Into your marrow
Put aside tomorrow
And so launder your heart clean of fear.
Our home is your home,
Come pull up your chair.

Women belong to the kitchen
is a maxim falsely woven.

On sunshiny mornings I'll
Perch myself on the edge of
The sink and look past the
Basil and cyclamen
Past the stained glass birds
And rainbow crystals
And I will look at the trees
As I feel the poetry and taste cold pizza.

When it starts to rain I
Will brew myself a blue mug of expensive
Imported tea and sit upon the
Unswept linoleum as I listen to the
Refrigerator rumble behind my head
And the rain echo in sheets on the skylight.

And once in awhile a
Stray drop comes through the window.

If I ever find myself lonely
I'll take the six minutes back to the
Place that never sleeps and
Drape myself on the humming stairs with my other half
To remind myself that
Solitude is a gift.

People change but
Houses stay the same.

There is much to be found
When you stop sitting in chairs
And realize that the place you call
Home is a place to feel safe.

kitchen floor
thanks for being my dance floor
i cried on the kitchen floor once
i cried over that one guy that one time
but the kitchen floor was still my dance floor in the end

She stands on a chair
Looking out the window
Above the kitchen sink,
Scrubbing baby bottles,
Sippy cups, and baby
Food jars.

She sees her entire
Second grade class
Playing a game of
Tag without her.

The baby cries from
The bedroom.
She jumps down
And runs to the
Back of the house,
Dragging the chair
With her.

She jumps on the chair
And lifts the baby out
Of the crib.
She reminds herself
To support his head
While she walks to
Their mother’s door.

Her mother is asleep
In the arms of a different
Man than last week,
She smells the all-too
Familiar mixture of
*** and Wine.

The man opens his
Eyes and barks at
Her to get out.

She carries the baby
To the ratty couch
And feeds him
As they sit with the
Two other children,
Listening to her
Peers laughter through the
Window above the sink.

if I had to choose my last breath
i’d choose it with you
and only fantasies create
a sort of granule gargantuan glee
if i had to choose between
letting go of fear
and touching you
i’d choose you every time
if i had to rebuttal the claims
of my own body insecurities
i’d let go of them
for you
if i had to challenge myself
beyond a thousand measures
go past fear itself
i’d do it for you
and maybe it will take forever
but i’m willing to make the case
of loving you so gently
i’m at ease with the whole world around me
and i just keep thinking of
oranges hanging loosely in a plastic net
just dangling about to
plop down on the shiny wood
floor clean of dirt or
rest them lightly on the white
porcelain kitchen counter
without a care in the world
because that’s how you make me feel
unbound and synchronized like
the clunk of a VHS tape
fitting nicely into place
re-wound and ready
for the movie to start

and if i had a wide choice of manly lovers
i’d choose you every time

you’re not what i expected
for a woman in her prime

there are cracks in head
the same way there are cracks
in the ceiling of your mother’s kitchen

i tell myself they all formed
from all of my thinking
and all of my feeling

your mother’s ceiling
kept crying all of those nights
she wouldn’t stop yelling

one day we won’t even notice them.