my return to sleep at six, fifty a.m.
is greeted warmly by your hand
which gently embraces mine
as i curl up around you.
i know your memory does not
record these moments we spend
searching for a greater unconsciousness
and i can only do my best to capture it for you,
so let me write of the tiny little kisses
and the soft rise and fall of your chest,
i’ll wake to tell you of the peace in my dreams.
Glancing at the frail frames of trees
I realize the aching in their skeletons
as we both come to the stunning conclusion
that winter has snuck up on us.
You can see in my hips,
these new curves which leave me
feeling insecure and unfamiliar,
sometime between the summer
and the fall i have been reborn
as a real woman now.
Within me, a passion has been restored.
The anxious waiting for any sign of life
somewhere I am not,
far from all these empty trees;
and life comes with new alertness beneath my feet
as though I learned a lesson
from the subtlety of fall:
Pressed between yr arms
a blanket of leaves as my only keeper
I close my eyes and pray for regeneration,
pray the way walnut, oak, and maple have taught me
Sic transit gloria, yet spring renews.
Please, allow us to write the sing-song poetry of our youth
as we grow under this harsh blanket of frozen earth,
let us forget those summers which kept us so warm
when we were young, but not quite innocent,
and find a breaking of these cold months
between late night movies, hot cocoa runs,
and those silent sighs we make,
relieved to be acquainted after the interim
of lonely.
Those dreams were holding me by the throat
as though I was asleep and had no choice
but to face torture behind closed eyes.
I wake from life, of course, with passion.
I wake with grace in my favorite pair of shoes;
and a blanket of apologies forming tears in the corners of my eyes.
The night I wake through is listless.
Finding me giving more than I have
in an attempt to satisfy some unfulfillable desire
to be needed. Yet, finding myself no one’s mother
I wake again. To a new reality, where
silence overturns the aching coos i released
beneath the subtle weight of you.
And when I finally find him, he arrives
unexpectedly early. As though somehow
what we always claimed we didn’t know:
we knew.
These dreams are protectively draped over my body
as though I am asleep and have no choice
but to cling to a comfort so unparallelled.
I wake in life, of course, with passion.
I wake with grace in my favorite pair of shoes;
and a web of secrets manifesting hope in my smile.
Sleep comes like a fever and I’m glad when it ends.
There’s a scraping sound beneath our bed each night;
a sorrow begging for its voice through the violent memories
of whatever aches we find locked inside our hearts.
I know I am but one finger wrapped around a doorknob
and I come with no key but my own fragile surroundings
This is the heart I have to offer.
Maybe you don’t get me, but I do.
delighting in the irony,
i dance around straightforwardness
to escape the human condition:
it’s all so vague, just games of words.
and not the type to gamble, i
consider the obvious:
with your hands on my hips
and your lips against mine,
i sense an undeniable longing,
disparately desperate to have what you want
or want what you have
so tonight, i know what to expect
when i finally choke every doubting wonder
to utter a question.
should we maybe talk about saturday?
the phone was ringing and i was climbing out of a dream, clutching tightly to this boy i’ve found myself replacing you with. yr call came unwelcomed and as a surprise, i suppose you don’t suspect that. I remember what it felt like being eighteen, but I’m not her. I will never be her. I take yr call until I realize I’m more tired than excited to hear yr voice whisper sweet drunken nothings from across the Rockies. You only use yr voice to say nothing.
Some lingering trace of autumn on this warm morning
shakes the leaves of the trees as I wait for the return of technology,
connecting me to wherever it is I am no longer going.
Memories of early Saturday mornings
when mom still clutched my hand,
which i held comfortably over my shoulder to reach her,
and followed me around garage sales
until we safely returned to cartoons.
I find myself continuously drawn to the same line from that movie,
i recall a time when our lives were much simpler. Wondering
how I will break from the suburbs,
I ponder the bright lights of Las Vegas
and what it was you expected to do when you were last there.
waking,
there is a sunlight which dusts
across the roof of the hotel
and this is my view of omaha:
thinking, just two years ago
i hoped academia would lead me here.
and, of course, then i had you.
all of the subtle meaning
behind our kisses–
the lusty wanting for satisfaction
of every humanly desire.
but omaha,
however pretentious
and funded would have meant
missing that single moment
where yr heart held yr nerve hostage
and you asked for everything you wanted.
posing the question as though
it were reversible
if only to keep yr heart off the line
and days later we find ourselves:
waking,
there’s a stubble which dusts
across your face, a sure sign
of comfortable.
you know, i’ve got some resolve in me, too.
hidden, somewhere.
i cleaned house for hours tonight.
just so i could leave.
and then my brother calls with a reason,
describing sirens
and slaps.
lies and alcohol.
I don’t know about you but nothing is all I’ve got.
And i was gonna go, too.
