My Irish Boy (8.12.13)

Of course, I miss your laugh, your eyes, your voice

The hugs, the intimacy, the games, and the music

Of course, I hurt inside when I know you’re out with someone else

And of course, I wish I were there perpetually

Instead of here all by myself


Those things sting enough, but what hits me hardest

Is the unexpected– the innocuous moment

Or so it seems

When a can of corned beef hash

On the top shelf stares down at me


I look at my bookcase and see my ex-lovers, lined up.
They haven’t been touched in months; some, years.

Stiff and neglected.

I hesitate to press open the pages and hear that crack the binding makes.
That means I have to commit.

The more time that passes, the easier it is to walk by without guilt.
It’s like I never knew them.

Inside of my heart, amidst the clutter of other small tragedies, lies the reality that I am no longer the generous lover of collected words.

I am the girl with a shelf of skeletons who remind her of her failure to follow through.

Summer’s Gone

Drops of luminescence beat the ground

After a cold night

In a Spring sun


I awoke with frost on my heart

Warm, tired tears

In a sunless, embracing bed


We always seemed shocked and angered

by the snow’s fall

After a pleasant day


I’m done being fooled by the chill,

by the icy words

that follow a once enchanting summer

Watched Pot

She witnesses the world around her opening up,

Like the way clouds of stained color disperse from herbs,

Slowly stretching out swirling arms across a mug of tea


Everywhere, everyone is seemingly living,

Achieving greatness or losing sanity,

But doing it magnanimously


She sits, waiting for the unfurling of her own imagined fate;

Darting eyes wondering if the next moment or situation will be the one to

Change things drastically


She learned young,

A watched pot never boils

Among the Living

White petals curled in afternoon sunlight

Rutilant eyes, surprised by morning’s gentle crest of

Whispering, echoing bird calls

The urging tickle in your throat;

The throbbing longing in the chest;

A coming of age for the soul to drop

Those dampening robes of complacency

To join the simple song of humming cars,

A trickling stream, two lovers’ dreams, and kids on swings

To be again among the living

and breathe the purity of euphoria

Midnight Tare (11.13.06)

On a night when pharmacy fills the air

I lay here in midnight’s tare

Which I dare suck in, in subtle fumes

Ruins are my slackened form, complacent and subdued.

Entertained by thoughts of you,

Kindred and calming, like the moon’s wax and waning

You’ve been there all along.

Amorously I long for this loss of weight

To be cradled in your nooks, be the

Voice of your song.

Time is dissipating along with my pain

Like nights where love belongs.


Lingering in midnight’s tare,

Breathing passion in quiet anticipation

Entertained by thoughts of my counterpart,

The wall built, and the mason.

It divides us, now, while you lay unconsciously apart.

But constructs made cannot deter me;

Rapt with invading sleepiness, I dress my dreams,

Prepare for night to end, the fading star’s gleam.


I confess my intimacy with you has me relaxed and sweet

A smoker’s midnight daze and

Two lover’s single heartbeat.