Po-eems

sidewalk chalk

i’ve got this sidewalk chalk

in my pocket

i’m walking to where

we stood before

 

here is where i draw the line

you stand on your side

me on mine

it’s such a vivid yellow

don’t cross

 

i wish i could cut

my wrists wide open

dry my veins

bleed out all the blood

that pumped through my heart

as it beat for you

 

i’m cutting

you loose

i’m done giving

i’m giving up

finally

such a simple choice to choose

you lose

 

 

Phantom Photo

Eyeliner I am eyeliner

My crying eyes I’m hiding

At last shall unite dying

See you in a while

 

Could you please bring

Better assurance?

I want to know

If we’re on our route

We can be friends

You might say

This is living

As a ghost.

 

Have I been asleep

Through some dawn of

Us wearing each other out?

Losing sight of the intangible

Future.

Have you made your transition?

 

I am invisible

But for one picture

We’d taken it

With a disposable camera

Before I ever realized

We could be disposable.

 

 

riddles

you left so early

but not before a kiss

I worry did you mean it

after you dumped a pile of

just-out-of-the-dryer-warm clothes

on me

 

alone in your bed

a pillow over my face

mind mingling in muddled dreams

the relentless chatter of a jackhammer

woke me

 

the pure and simple truth

the rare and hopeless romance

the unconditional love

you still won’t embrace

I carry it home each time

with me

 

I only escape

the relentless chatter of my mind

in sleep in cold dark shadows in dreams

I question so much I close

my eyes again your smell still

around me.

 

 

Sex and Breakfast.

I stowed and sealed these things in mental boxes a long time ago. Boxes I swore I’d never open again but today the lock was broken and a piece of me was borne away.

 

I’ve been questioning my depth lately and I keep coming back to the same term: abysmal. Lackluster and lacking–apparently wildly cheapened somewhere, somehow.

 

I’m not the girl one brings home to meet the folks, never have been nor am I sure I was missing it. I’m the girl you fuck a time or ten but rarely stay to have dinner with.

 

Breakfast is a different beast. If it’s shitty diner coffee to hold hands with a hangover or eggs in a basket with meat and potatoes to match, sex and breakfast are my fortes.

 

 

Untitled

The earth gave its call

And nothing at all

Could stop the leaves

The leaves that fall,

That whisper and fall.

 

They hung in the air

Between here and there,

Where time stood still

And the trees didn’t care,

Didn’t notice or care.

 

 

Which is Worse…Hell or Nothing?

Have you ever wanted something so badly

that when it presented itself to you

you reached out and grabbed for it

wildly and held tight for dear life?

 

Only after awhile

you open your fist

and discover it’s empty

you missed by a hair

 

The thing was always just outside your grasp

and you’ve been holding onto nothing all along

it was never, ever there.

 

 

Here, Now

We are standing

At the edge of a

Goodbye. You cup your

Hands over my eyes

Gently, just to block

My view. “I’m going

To take a photograph;

Paint you a picture with

Words,” you say.

Dusk hangs

Over the trees below

A blue-white zenith

Like petite pink and

Orange flowers hang

From a ceiling plant…

Your hands drop as

Your eyes dart to the dim,

Hazy horizon where

A thin and blurry line

Of blue-gray water

Meets cloud. The

Pioneer stars poke

Pinholes in the evening,

One minute they are

There, then gone the next

When we try to focus on

The spot, because it is still

Too light. The trees sway

Before a roguish breeze

Reaches us; I feel it

And shiver.

The changing leaves,

Orange and yellow

Suddenly blend completely

With the sky and we blink

At the brilliant sunset colors.

In the silence a single bird

Chirps. You turn to me with

Fluttering lashes as your eyes

Readjust to the fading day

And you kiss me once

Swiftly but stunningly,

And I know that

This moment

Here, now

Is a memory

Forever ours.

Blind-side Dating…straight from my imagination.

Out of the rain finally, in a dreary, droopy-eyelid inducing dive bar, I sat with my legs crossed tightly at the ankles and wondered if the two near fender benders I almost got into driving here (neither being my fault) were a good indication that this might all be a bad idea. Fortunately, I’d dug an umbrella out of the back of my car and managed to luck out with a fairly decent dry martini from a bartender whose garbled chattiness after having a tooth pulled didn’t do much to improve the ambiance.

I waited.

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. My foot twitched anxiously against the side of my somewhat rickety barstool.

From behind — “Um hi, are you Penny?”

“I am,” I replied, casting an over the shoulder sidelong glance. He was very tall, broad shouldered with chiseled features disguised slightly by a month’s facial hair growth; long dread locks tied back, a distinct widows peak, and shadowy grayish-green eyes–the kind that look blue until you’re close enough to touch noses. I smiled, stood on the top rung of the unstable stool and hugged him saying, “You must be Carter.”

He sat on the stool beside mine and the bartender delivered him a cheap beer.

“How was your Friday?” I asked.

“Uneventful.”

Aware that he takes photographs for a clothing company I probed further, “Busy day in the office? What’s the next big thing for you guys? Light up bathing suits?”

He came back with “Actually I think we’re taking on a more serious venture…panties, both crotchless and edible, along with strap ons, double ended jelly dongs, and high tech blow up dolls.”

“Ha ha ha ha!!” I laughed out heartily. He’d taken me by surprise with his quietly delivered wit and charm. I knew there was a good reason I’d chosen to meet a total stranger for drinks. We’d also predetermined that setting a 20 minute meet time rule would eliminate the potential for awkward silences and social discomfort if one of us was not hitting it off.

We flew through a tornado triggering conversation about everything from Kevin Bacon and the 6 degrees of separation to NPR’s Radiolab; food aversions against milk and maple syrup to drugs, sex, and music that inspires us to dance; books worth reading, movie stars worth watching, how to revolutionize camping sleepwear, irrational fear of things like bunk beds and having one’s teeth knocked out, past relationships, bearing children, cyber stalking, and Hannibal’s law…before we realized over an hour had gone by and we were clearly both still interested.

At this point, our only distraction came from Tray Papillon, my best friend who had planned to meet me downtown after the date, walking in and breaking the synapse-like spark of a connection he and I had been amplifying. As I snapped out of what seemed very similar to a hypnotic state, having been rapt with intrigue in my gentleman caller, one of my greatest formative year fears was realized…”What if he’s not as into me as I am him?! What if he’s already got his eyes set on someone else?”

In hindsight, I wonder if I’d said this thought aloud, would things have happened differently. Mirror, mirror on the wall who’s the fairest of them all? Well it sure as shit isn’t life. If life were fair every rosy cheeked child would have a tricycle and a double scoop ice cream cone, every new born would have two perfectly suited loving, committed parents, Subway “sandwich artists” would smile more and attempt to evenly distribute the toppings on my sub, money would actually buy happiness and everyone would be rich. What had had the potential to be a momentous evening on the avenue toward hand holding and frolicking through a field of golden wheat grass promptly ended with the following words from Tray to Carter:

“Hey! Nice to meet you! Are you single?”

…”Yes.”

“Well, do you enjoy women?”

…”Not usually.”

How had I missed this infinitesimal yet mind blowing detail? The irony that papillon means butterfly in French, and this jaw-droppingly handsome man had burgeoned butterflies for me so quickly to all come crashing down in an instant with the help of an observant outsider was nearly too much for me. I paid my tab, thanked my company, and moseyed on down the cobbled street.

If only life, the continuous slingshot journey around the sun, came with a travel adviser. And caution signs for the hopeful, reminding us that hope is hardly an action, and disappointments are a lot more tangible than happily every afters.

DPchallenge