Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The bold gulls dove as if they owned it all.
We picked up sticks of driftwood and beat them off,
Then stepped down the steep beach shelf and into the water.
We kicked and talked. The thick salt kept us up.
I see us floating there yet, inseparable—two cork dolls.
What keyhole have we slipped through, what door has shut?
The shadows of the grasses inched round like hands of a clock,
And from our opposite continents we wave and call.
Everything has happened.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
another heart I turned blue.
(found it useless to seek) a new me in you
haven't written in ages
here staring at pages
they look back blankly inside their cages
i am chewing the traces
of yesterday's poem, last year's regret,
and formulated phrases, like "now's not the time,"
"your eyes don't match mine,"
content with dispair, and perfectly fine
swallowing it all with wine.
Friday, May 6, 2011
you patented the smile on my lips,
and maybe even my hips.
A closet full of make-up,
downstairs, Grandpa in the darkroom. (while the fan swayed its arms,
your orchid watched.)
Counting backwards, she makes room for us all--
unveils the evening: a scrabble board.
we learn colors
her chest full of scarves.
Careful careful hands held us
enveloped into a charmed dance
of the softest quiet beauty within my Grandmother's hands.