Tonight is not turning my bike around when it started to pour.
Tonight is rain pelting my skin, soaking my clothes, filling my shoes with water.
Tonight is searching for the rainbow and not finding it.
Tonight is gratitude for the bumpy road and the hard saddle between my legs (yeah, I said that).
Tonight is watching two people carry two ducks down the road and then go swimming with them.
Tonight is pushing ******* the hills, taking the corners a little too fast, risking the new, smooth tires on the sandy gravel road and nearly wiping out, but not.
Tonight is gratitude for my legs, my heart, my lungs, my spirit that will not settle for easy, that keeps pushing through day after day.
Tonight is racing the darkness home and winning, just barely.
Tonight is coming home to a cat who loves me and ice cream waiting.

She had two kids
a husband
a full time job.
Being tired
was normal,
expected.

A summer hike
rendered her dizzy
too weak almost
to finish.

By winter she found
herself passed out
at a concert.
Anemia they told her.

A pain in her stomach
Dismissed as an ulcer.
Tests and more tests
and finally
they discovered
the cells gone haywire
multiplying in the colon
spreading into the liver.

Four months they said.
A year later cells were all
she had become.
They ate her alive.
My mother.

Wake with the sun,
the song of the birds
Tangled and sweaty
Legs entwined, head on heart
Hand in curls wild from night

Speak of dreams, fears, hopes
Love comes easily,
tenderly, softly without apology
Snuggle closer, alarm be ******
Add sticky to sweaty,
a stew of sustenance
Fuel for the day
Your face above mine
Your breath in my ear
Your love fills me
I carry you with me
As morning turns to day

Layered

Spring is stubborn this year
and we are layered,
the ocean in front of us does its thing not a care in the world for us,
the wind blows our hair,
chills our necks,
not caring either.
The sun shines down on our
pale faces and feet
bringing out freckles
that make him smile.
I peel an orange,
we scoop avocado from its shell, eat dolmas,
sink our bodies
into layer upon layer of sand.

We take off layers of clothing,
put them back on,
the same dance we do with our minds unraveling the layers of our emotions, our willingness to be vulnerable.
In front of us the ocean does not care about any of this,
content in its own rhythms
steadily caressing the shore.
We sit in silence unraveled.

Your smell lingers on me
mixing with lilac and grass
it makes me heady,
full of longing
You smell good

Everywhere lovers greet the day
A duck couple crosses
in front of me on the bike path
I love you

A wild turkey struts his stuff
for his girl and all to see
You are beautiful

Bumblebees **** nectar from every blossom they find
You taste good

A woman lies a blanket
on a mountain top,
fusses with it,
waits for her man
I want to hold you

I sit on a tree stump, freshly cut
its life-long lover
still stands strong next to it
shading me from the sun
I’m sorry

Last night at dusk
as the peepers called to
their lovers and the
frogs croaked to theirs
a young deer,
confused by a fence
rammed herself
over and over into it

A few feet away
the fence ended
and the deer could have
run right through
had she the where-with- all
to stop her ramming
and just look

I watched and tried
to coax her
until finally she spooked
and ran the other way,
across the path
and into the woods
where she disappeared
as if she had never
been there at all

Today I want to sit
sun warming my face,
thawing the cold ground.
I want to write of you,
a love story,
my love story.
Ours.

I want to write of your face
Above me,
below me,
next to me
In the throws of passion or
on the verge of tears.

I want to write of your body.
Not just your body
but ours, together.
The way we move like waves
on an ever changing shore,
familiar, desperate,
soft and gentle.

I want to write of your heart.
The way it melts me with its kindness. It’s capacity and desire to know me and understand without fear.

I want to write of your mouth.
Oh god your mouth!
I really have no adequate words for how delicious it is.
Swallow me whole.
I want to feed you everything.

A Perfect Morning

Wake with the sun,
the song of the birds
Tangled and sweaty
Legs entwined, head on heart
Hand in curls wild from night

Speak of dreams, fears, hopes
Love comes easily,
tenderly, softly without apology
Snuggle closer, alarm be ******
Add sticky to sweaty,
a stew of sustenance
Fuel for the day
Your face above mine
Your breath in my ear
Your love fills me
I carry you with me
As morning turns to day

Oh girl, you are loved, relax
Oh girl, you are enough, relax
Oh girl, you are loving relax
Oh girl, your heart is intact, it pulses every second of every day, relax
Oh girl, though your brain swirls every which way it knows how to find center when you listen, relax
Oh girl, your body knows comfort and sometimes even can find it, relax
Oh girl, money comes and money goes, but you are capable, relax
Oh girl, you have known fear and still you persist, relax
Oh girl, adventures await, relax

My Mother and Other Ghosts

My mother’s ghost is
kind and benevolent
she shows herself
mostly in the kitchen,
in my children’s strength,
and in my father’s heart.
She does not show herself often
and sometimes
I even have to
wish for her,
but when she comes
I know it.

She does not haunt me
like the others do.
My ex husband,
alive still,
haunts me the most.
His ghost appears
out of no where,
takes a simple
sentence or every day
situation and
turns it into an
earthquake
in my head.
He comes when I
least expect him
reeking havoc,
taunting in the
ways he does best.

The creaky door,
spine tingling ghosts
appear less frequently.
Mostly in the night,
always out of sight
conjuring images of
souls trapped.
Sad and lonely
just coming to say hello.
I welcome these.
They are easy to
make happy.
Passing in the darkness.
Hello I whisper.
Hello.

Winter’s last full moon
and we are in bed too early.
Sticky from the unseasonable warmth and my body,
surging from hormones.

Sleep comes in fits
as the  clock on the church counts down the hours.
And you, beside me
sleep the
scattered sleep
of dreams.

A door somewhere
slowly creaks open
and closed.
The dog growls
and I lie still,
listening.
Beside me, you
wake from your dream,
speak of hauntings.

We talk of dreams
and ghosts
and I think
how sweet it would be
To be haunted
by something
as benign as a ghost
Opening doors
in the night.

I did not rock the boat
the first night in our new house
when you went out til 3am
with your ex girlfriend
I promise

I did not rock the boat
that day that I kissed you
and you smelled of another woman
To love and abide

I did not rock the boat
when you spent $900
on a gun you insisted was for my protection
In sickness and in health

I did not rock the boat
when you told me I was
too fat
couldn’t cook
didn’t dress right
didn’t do my hair right
From this day forward

But ****** I turned the boat
upside down and swam for my life
when the pain of staying became
bigger than the pain of leaving
til death do us part

Today is the kind of day
that begins at 4am
with a pit of anxiety
deep in your belly

The kind of day where
your son spills an entire
bowl of cereal with milk

Where your sister tells
you the trip you’ve been
planning for months
can not happen

Where your client
complains about your work
and then tries to make it
better with a hug and a
condescending pat on the back

Where you eat three day old
cold pizza for lunch
sitting in your car

The kind where others
point out how
beautiful the sky is
and you are so caught up
in your own grump that you
do not care one bit about the
wonders of the world we live in

The kind where the
anger in you bubbles so
thick you can feel it
in your blood
clogging your chest
lodging there like a fist
punching from the inside out

You know it will pass
But even that ****** you off
because who wants
another day
gone

I want to know what you see when you look at me.
What makes your heart
skip a beat.
What wakes you up in the darkest hours of the night.

I want to know
where you go
when you crawl into a cave
like a bear,
what will coax you out,
or do you just need to stay awhile?

I want to know
how to love you so that you
never for a minute wonder or doubt that you are cherished.

I want to wake
each day
in the gray of morning
mingled in your limbs
your face inches from mine,
stealing time before the clock starts ticking the day away.

I want you to know
you are every single thing
I have ever wanted and more.

I want you to know
that my heart beats for you,
my blood flows differently now, thicker, richer, warmer.

I want us to know
how to harness our strengths to
make each other stronger.
How to hold each other up when we feel like falling, how to fall when we need to and know
everything will be ok.

I want me, I want you, I want us.

I dream of love notes
Beautiful embossed paper
Curvy cursive letters
forming words
that spill from the heart.

I dream of finding them in my car, under my pillow, stuck in my top drawer next to the ******* that he gently pulls from my body and throws to the floor.

I dream of words;
smitten and adored,
cherished and desired.
Yours.

I dream of a code just ours
like my grandparents had.
1-4-3
I love you
On card
after card
after card.

I dream of unfolding creases made by his hands,
smoothed by fingers
that know me
like none other.

I hold these dreams
close to my face.
Inhale his scent.
Read them slowly
savoring every word
as only a heart
held so gently can do.

I am not your sugar mama
Don’t you “hey ****” me
I am sweet and I am ****
But I am not your sugar mama

I am not your sugar mama
Don’t ask me “whose ***** is this”
It’s mine all mine, and I might share it if I want to
But I am not your sugar mama

I am not your sugar mama
I don’t care about your **** pics or your smooth sweet talk
You can send them if you want to
But I am not your sugar mama

I am not your sugar mama
Don’t look me up and down
I might strut my stuff all about town
But I am not your sugar mama

Sweet, ****, beautiful and hot
I am mine all mine.

Do not wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead
tell me to
stop crying.

I will not stop those
fat tears that burn my cheeks
roll down my face and
pool in my collar bones.

Do not wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead
tell me to stop worrying.

I will not stop my worries
from filling my brain
spilling down into my stomach
where they lodge like a meal too heavy to digest.

Do not wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead
tell me to breathe deeply.

I will hold my breath until my lungs burn, until my skin starts to turn purple, until I can not help but gasp for breath.


Wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead, but
do not tell me how to be,
how to act,
how to feel.
Do not tell me.

Awaiting Judgement

I sit awaiting judgement. I've cleaned up well, practiced my power stance and so far managed to refrain from pacing in the corridor although I admit that I tried it, just one lap.

A baby wails inconsolably as his haggard mother and grandmother try hopelessly to appease him and I think yeah kid, that’s the right emotion.

A man storms out swearing under his breath, his sleek attorney trailing behind him shaking his head.

A woman sitting across from me catches my eye, we manage a nervous smile, acknowledge our shared hell.

There are no magazines, no coffee allowed, not even a clock to watch. Only the fetid air of nervousness and lives about to be changed forever.

There is no god here although the powers that be are just as mighty, making sweeping decisions about people’s futures “in the best interest” of children they will never meet, reading lies about you, believing what they will.

We are powerless to do anything but wait. And so we settle in as best we can. Awaiting judgment.

It is the last days of our marriage. The days of waiting to move out. Of awkward coexistence.  
He has been cleaning his guns all afternoon.
Dinner time comes and I sit with my back to the kitchen.
My children at the table.
He comes in holding a gun. I am used to the cleaning but not to him walking around with them. This is new and not expected.
My pulse quickens and I say calmly, “do you mind putting that away?”
“Why, does it make you nervous?” he says tauntingly.
It is in that moment that I realize I will never be free.
My pulse will forever more beat to a different rhythm.
My soup tastes like fear but I swallow it down anyway, turn to him and say “yes, yes it does”.

Sometimes I think,
I should have stayed.
Til death do us part we vowed.
In sickness and in health.
Were there words about
not putting daggers in my soul, was there anything about not breaking me down until I forgot who I was?
Friday my therapist tells me, “remember who you are”.
I’ve spent the last four years remembering who you told me I was for twenty long years.
Too weak,
fat,
bad hair style,
wrong shoes,
bland cook,
messy in the kitchen
not good enough,
never good enough,
always wrong.
Who am I, I try to remember.
I try to reach deep inside and pull out the daggers one by one so my heart doesn’t bleed out.
I am strong.
I am capable.
I am desirable.
I am loved.
I am good enough.
**** it. I am all that and more.

And you? Nothing but a coward.
Even my leaving could not stop you from trying to destroy me.
But you didn’t count on me remembering who I am.
Did you?

The night we met I danced on the moon, full from the catch. My mask discarded I revealed my true self, young and vulnerable, eager to be filled.
The next morning, I did not know your name, nor did I care. We danced through the day and into night again. Full of lust, my ego stroked by your attention, your primal need.
After, there were letters. Hand written words filling pages, traveling across the miles. I knew your name now, but was not sure what to call you. You tasted my fingers, like vegetables you said. You needed me. Wanted.
My young self saw the warnings; late nights out, disappearing acts, comments stinging, distance. Stories of pain, hurts so big they cemented your heart. My mask on again filtered light, turned the truth upside down. Loyal and eager for the dream I stayed. Days turned into weeks turned into years.
Decades.
The children took me from you, filling me with life and love where you could not. Your ego bruised, damaged, you continued your retreat.
Age wizened, I slowly began to listen. My gut knew what my eyes could not see. The facade became easier than the truth and then, not.
You promised me what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, but I knew. I hurt. Finally, camel’s back broken, I spoke. I knew now what to call you. Names flew out of my mouth and bounced off of of you, impenetrable. Strengthened by my voice I found the moon where I had left it, steady and hopeful it drew me.

In the beginning was the word and the word was lover.
Lover was a word she never quite understand. With its root of love, it really had nothing to do with love and everything to do with ***.
You need a lover he told her. She pondered this. Mulled it over in her mind. To take a lover, so different than falling in love.
She knew she wanted love. And she wanted ***. But she did not want these things separated. And she would not share and so she declined.
And then, love happened. He fell as she knew he would and later, she did as well.
But in his despair he could no longer love her. He suggested again that they be lovers. And again she pondered. He wanted to give her what he could, what was easy, what he knew he was good at.
And she wanted more. She would not be a lover with out love, it made no sense to her.
In the end there was word. And the word was no.

In the hipster cafe
where you must know
a foreign language
to order a drink,
where your drink comes with a
swirl of a heart which you sorely need,
where the price of that heart cuts deep.

In the hipster cafe
you might meet an old lover.
You might cry big crocodile tears
into your swirly heart drink
while he begs you to love him right.

In the hipster cafe
you might have a first date.
He might flirt with the cute barista
and then look you up and down
like a prized race horse.
He might insist on kissing you
because, chemistry.

In the hipster cafe
you might try to hide behind
an apple product pretending to write
or maybe really writing
while the swirly heart
slowly dissolves into nothingness.

In the end I did not have to say
the one word that would have
ended it all, or never even
have let it begin.

The word that got stuck in my throat
like an errant popcorn kernel,
making me sputter and cough,
making my eyes water until
I could not see.

Instead, today he kindly asked
"Should I not come?"
Yes! I said yes please!
Then, "should I get my things?"
Yes I said, yes please!

And just like that
It was over.

I am angry and hurt and so I egg him on a little.
I pretend for a moment that his open relationship idea is a good one. After all, life is short. Why not be free.

He likes this version of me, flirty and slutty and when I mention my new lace bra he decides to show me just how much he likes this new me.

There on my screen. Proof of what? How much he wanted me to be different? How exciting it is to think of me with another man? How exciting his new found freedom will be?

He thinks I like this. That I might mastrubate to it. That with it I will be happy.
For that is what he wants. I do believe that. But no. It did not make me happy. It makes me cheap and sad. And so very alone.
And so I ponder, what do I do with it? And how has it come to this?
His ****, hard and ready and me, alone again.