"corsages" poems
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Yes I jumped in those leaves
crunchy, fluffy, autumn leaves
Waded in the decorative fountain
Climbed on the public art
Yes I danced swing in the BART station
Hid in the grocery store among rolls of
toilet paper
Had to *** a ride after the Dicken's faire
Played in the rain
Hugged my mother
Made my dad take me to see Tangled in 3D
Yes I measured the baking soda for those
dinosaur chocolate chip cookies
Loved Steve Irwin will all my childhood admiration
Was afraid of the Deep End
Memorized Shel Silverstein
Remember my sister reading me Harry Potter
Gripping my best friend on Tower of Terror, Indiana Jones, Space Mountain
Sang Christmas Carols in October
And I'm not even sorry
I was a pirate paleontologist pop-star
pokemon master steampunk rocker renaissance girl who
time-traveled, hunting T-rex
adventuring with Christopher Robin, Calvin and Hobbes
Made two corsages for my junior prom, fed ducks,
ate at Mels, posed in the dollar store, watched
the Avengers in our glittering dresses for the second
Laughed so hard I cried about the stupidest things
I doubted, got lost in Costco, found my faith
Had my prayers answered
For the bestest, most faithful friends
I have the "simple human relief of knowing you’ve done wrong, and living through it"
And don't take this the wrong way
It's not like I'm going to jump off a bridge
Well, maybe with a bungee cord?
But if I died right now
**** Gone.
I wouldn't say I envied anybody
Not really
We've had a pretty **** great time
haven't we?
Oh sure I'd protest
Places to go, people to see, things to eat, but...
As long as You forgive me
my faults
Whose to say,
There is anything else I HAVE to do
Before I have lived a GREAT life
I have nothing to prove
besides that I am grateful
for this breath of life
which may pass at any moment
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Corsages
Pressed shirts
Flirty butterflies
Not me.
Just your sweatshirt
Slow music
Missing you.
Gorgeous smile
We chose your shirt today
All eyes on you.
Girls staring
How could they not
I would be too.
But what they don't know
Is the curve of your neck
The rise and fall of your chest
The flutter of your eyelids
The slight smile on your lips
As you fall asleep.
The beauty that I have memorized
That only I get to see
Tonight
And every night after.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
One night.
One night
Of magic, love, laughter.
One night
To drop your weights
And just dance, baby, dance.
One night
To see everyone you’ve known for years
As princesses and princes in their finest satins.
Jewels glisten and the smell of small flowers
Wafts through the air, mingling with the sweat of the dance floor.
Petals flutter from corsages, but no one seems to care,
They just dance, forget every fear
One night,
I had the best night of my life
I laughed and I danced
I kissed my love, and he kissed me
Under the light of a half-grown moon
Stars peeked through the fleeing storm clouds and smiled
And my love and I, we didn’t care who was watching
As we slow danced to a high-speed song;
We were singing our own song,
Just outside the party
And I felt the love
(with just a hint of lust)
Flowing between us,
And in that moment, in his arms,
I was home.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
Empty pizza boxes, and green
Couch cushions
Chapped lips and sunburns
Staying inside because your air conditioning
Actually works
The ice rink that’s always cold, but you
Wear short sleeves anyway
Kissing you between sips
Of hot chocolate, kissing you
Between people cheering
And crowded stands and pucks in nets
And spilt popcorn
The time we broke up
And you cut off all your hair
I bought you a Boston Red Sox hat, so that
You’d remember our city and cover your scalp
While your hair slowly grew back
That night I was drunk
And stained your shirt sleeve with makeup
You never thought the shaking would stop,
I blamed the *****
Corsages and suit coats, tightening your
Tie to match the dress, which took
Months for me to pick out
You never got to unzip it
The morning after, packing up
At 7am because the house was
Too full and my stomach was
Empty
Crossing my arms in the passenger seat
And mumbling that maybe
We needed time apart
Only to come barreling back together, like
Lighting a matchstick
And kissing to relieve the casualties
The time I lost my breath
But found it in your arms
“you’re okay, I'm here… I'll always be here”
And just knowing, just knowing, just
Knowing.
That night in the backseat
When it felt like the first time with you
All over again, the wheels clicked inside the motor
everything fell apart, the world stood still
And then everything fell back together
While going through the trash, sorting plastic
Organizing bottles and classifying cans
I told my mother we had 10 days left
And my tears dripped into the recycling bin
Dreaming about losing you to a plane ticket
And pushing your number at 3am
Because I only have 12,960 minutes left, to hear
The heartbeat through your shirt
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
There are not many souls as beautiful or broken.
Tormented by depression no one completely understands,
you fight through the fog of every day.
I wish you could see what I see.
You always remembered my birthday-
even though you were self medicated with beer.
You took me to dances
and always gave me the most beautiful corsages -
each and every time.
I dried all the flowers you gave me
and kept them through the divorce and my remarriage.
(now our son sends me flowers
that I dry and keep with yours-
he truly is the better part of you)
I also remember the fights -
only now realizing you weren't fighting with me,
you were fighting your demons.
I think I will cling to the good.
Our son is one of the most amazing men on the planet.
You predicted he would be an athlete -
when he took his first steps.
I only wish your illness would have released
its grip long enough for you to make his games.
High school, college, two years pro ball
Your illness only released its grip once.
One game out of hundreds.
Your excitement to see fans
wearing the name you gave him with his number.
If only you could experience joy-
without the deadly combination
of alcohol and meds.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Quel temps de chien ! - il pleut, il neige ;
Les cochers, transis sur leur siège,
Ont le nez bleu.
Par ce vilain soir de décembre,
Qu'il ferait bon garder la chambre,
Devant son feu !
A l'angle de la cheminée
La chauffeuse capitonnée
Vous tend les bras
Et semble avec une caresse
Vous dire comme une maîtresse,
" Tu resteras ! "
Un papier rose à découpures,
Comme un sein blanc sous des guipures.
Voile à demi
Le globe laiteux de la lampe
Dont le reflet au plafond rampe,
Tout endormi.
On n'entend rien dans le silence
Que le pendule qui balance
Son disque d'or,
Et que le vent qui pleure et rôde,
Parcourant, pour entrer en fraude,
Le corridor.
C'est bal à l'ambassade anglaise ;
Mon habit noir est sur la chaise,
Les bras ballants ;
Mon gilet bâille et ma chemise
Semble dresser, pour être mise,
Ses poignets blancs.
Les brodequins à pointe étroite
Montrent leur vernis qui miroite,
Au feu placés ;
A côté des minces cravates
S'allongent comme des mains plates
Les gants glacés.
Il faut sortir ! - quelle corvée !
Prendre la file à l'arrivée
Et suivre au pas
Les coupés des beautés altières
Portant blasons sur leurs portières
Et leurs appas.
Rester debout contre une porte
A voir se ruer la cohorte
Des invités ;
Les vieux museaux, les frais visages,
Les fracs en coeur et les corsages
Décolletés ;
Les dos où fleurit la pustule,
Couvrant leur peau rouge d'un tulle
Aérien ;
Les dandys et les diplomates,
Sur leurs faces à teintes mates,
Ne montrant rien.
Et ne pouvoir franchir la haie
Des douairières aux yeux d'orfraie
Ou de vautour,
Pour aller dire à son oreille
Petite, nacrée et vermeille,
Un mot d'amour !
Je n'irai pas ! - et ferai mettre
Dans son bouquet un bout de lettre
A l'Opéra.
Par les violettes de Parme,
La mauvaise humeur se désarme :
Elle viendra !
J'ai là l'Intermezzo de Heine,
Le Thomas Grain-d'Orge de Taine,
Les deux Goncourt ;
Le temps, jusqu'à l'heure où s'achève
Sur l'oreiller l'idée en rêve,
Me sera court.
647
Springsteen sang about glory days
and I laughed
and swore that wouldn’t be me.
I looked around this small town
at these large fishes
and knew I’d find a bigger pond.
But here I am
holding up jerseys
reading newspaper clippings
looking at old pictures
corsages
valentine’s roses
yearbook autographs
picture day poses
and can’t stop talking about
glory days.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 2:26 AM UTC
Here they all come to get ready.
Excitement is rosying their cheeks.
This is the day they’ve been waiting for
And dreaming and planning for weeks.
The six bridesmaids, all in a flurry
Of hangers and makeup cases,
Begin to get into their dresses
And do last minute things to their faces.
On the other side of the building
In a room that’s a little more male,
All the groomsmen are solving the mystery
Of dressing in white tie and tails.
Now the bride and her parents arrive
And I really can go into action.
I have checked over every last detail
And it all meets to my satisfaction.
I supervise pinning corsages
And give the girls their bouquets.
Then I check on the progress of seating
To make sure there will be no delays.
Everything now is in order
And still five minutes left to the time
I will start them each one down the aisle
To the sound of the ***** and chime.
At last here it is, it’s beginning.
“Start on your left foot...and smile”
The glow that I get as I watch them
Makes all of the effort worthwhile.
And now for the bride and her father.
She’s radiant. He’s very proud.
I open the doors, the ***** swells,
But she doesn’t notice the crowd.
She looks to her groom at the altar
And her smile is only for him.
As he waits for her there with the preacher,
Slightly nervous, but handsome and trim.
As I watch from the back I get misty
Remembering my own wedding day
And I know that my joy is worth more
Than any fee I could ask them to pay
*********
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC
I’ve always been good at navigating. I can find my way in a crowd or a city unknown to me. I no longer get shaky when I think about getting lost. Asking strangers for directions has never been a problem. My legs take me as far as I need to go, and my feet share secrets with the road to bargain with back in the bazaar of my head. We know how to get there. We usually do. I tried going to my happy place today. Turns out it’s hard to pinpoint on the myriad of maps I’ve been making since I was 4 years old. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what counts anymore. Places I once knew to glow yellow from the inside out have dimmed, and most old memories have the scrap of a taint too sharp to touch still attached to them. I have problems with letting go. I find it hard to forget the same way an elephant keeps count of every word anyone’s ever said. You would think this would be an advantage. Sometimes it isn’t. It is hard to try and write new on a slate that was never wiped clean. I have changed. I am envious of everyone able to close the boxes they’ve packed away. Because the lid on mine never seems to fit properly. It is tiring to be responsible for your own hurt every time you have to hold the door shut to stop the past from lingering. Nails ready to dig into the New you’re doing your best to treasure. I think about the temporary nature of all things. How no one is invincible. No one is ever as perfect as we project. I am not without my flaws or faults. In fact, they have grown bouquets on my sleeves and have built their own corsages on my wrists for when my heart is too heavy to smile for the camera. I think of the “who” rather than the where. The bubbles I have collected with my breath and held with full air in the hopes they don’t burst. Their rainbow undersides and defiance to my gravity while never floating too far away outside my hazy atmosphere. The happy they have given me to make my own. The happy they radiate during visiting hours. The happy that soaks into the knowledge that I sometimes do the same. I am grateful. Always grateful. I may not have bought my house yet but I can always keep renting the flat where the couch is always cosying up to a comfy I am lucky to accommodate. It still smells like warmth and conversations yet to come once they leave. Until next time. Let yourself in.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
I tried so very hard
To turn you into that thing
You said you would turn me into
I turned you into a box
That sits high up in my closet
With only the most valuable things in it
To remember
There are corsages and letters
And that ****** bracelet I can't look at
There are smiley faces
And cards
And quotes all around the sides
To keep me from looking at it
Because it knew I would linger
And go back
Sometimes that box falls off my shelf
Straight into my arms
And I collapse onto the floor
Looking at what was
Contemplating if everything was
Just some lie
A beautiful lie
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
Crushed corsages
crumbling in stress,
come with
multi-colored
corsets
that are tightened
till you
lose your breath;
Straighten
your spine
till you are
a perfect line,
and everyone
says
you are perfectly fine;
Sick expectations,
people pass
pathetic pleasantries
as they continue
judging thee
declaring,
whether you are
or are not
a special beauty.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC