Monday, November 25, 2013


When Loneliness visits
he sits down awhile,
I’ll offer him some tea
and perhaps I’ll enjoy the visit
because he always leaves me
better, braver

But he always stays longer than I plan
and I run out of things to give him – 
to distract him with

I’ve got songs for him, the sad ones
those make him go away
if the lyrics hit him softly and precisely

I’ve got poems for him to read
those satisfy him on occasion
if the words are just right

And when all that fails,
I’ve got people, people to introduce
people that scare him off
for days

But then – sometimes  
the songs, and poems, and people
aren’t enough
And he listens to Bright Eyes with me
and sings along
And he reads Sylvia Plath over my shoulder
and stays for every heavy word
He even accompanies me in crowded rooms
an invisible observer,
only whispering to me

like a ghost on my shoulder, in my ear

And I'm starting to think I'll befriend him,
even if the thought of him shakes me

Loneliness must be my friend  
after all
if he is the one that always stays
I know him well
after all this time
and I'll have to be his friend for now
if I'm going to be happy.

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Little Moving Picture

Last night I saw two shadows,
one slight and one steady
muffled by curtains,
painted in lazy lamplight, 
framed by bricks
a little moving picture

a post card for my secret self,
of what things could be
it could be me in the foggy glass
some version of me
that found you
and you could come to me
every evening

- and our shadows could dance,
and light up the window
again and again
our shadows would seem heavy
on cold nights
and thin in the summer

sometimes they won’t match
- mine will sag close to the sill
yours might seem fuzzy and far
but they will always meet
slip into each other in the end
every evening

in our little moving picture.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

How it can be:

It can be awkward. 
It can be unsure and uncomfortable, 
as long as it's authentic. 
But I want it to be inevitable, 
from the moment we speak to each other 
- not see each other - 
because that's different. It can be infatuation. 
It can be lust at first; 
but not for appearances. 
Lust for the way I immediately need to talk to you. 
Lust for the way you laugh, a long time, over something I say. 
Lust for our ease - how easy it is for you to touch me 
- how electrifying it is to touch you back. 
That will be easy. It will always be easy, for us, physically 
- but at some point you will have to untangle me, 
and I am sorry you've got to do that. 
You will have to be brave and search the darkest corners of me 
- and I'll have to be brave and look inside you as well. 
I'll hope for some bruises to match my own, 
but I'll want to fix them, and if I cannot fix them I will love them. 
You will do the same and you will want me more 
when you know about my mistakes and my fears. 
You will give them new names so that they are no longer flaws. 
When I am not myself you will love me until I am again. 
And you will always find me 

because we have the same hiding places.

Saturday, November 9, 2013