May #24

I walked and saw death today.
It shuttled along steel rails,
a massive solid thing
of moving plates,
connected by chains.
It reminded me of a spine,
so delicate yet vital.
I stood nearby and was impressed,
for perhaps I had been long acquainted
with the children's version of death,
the one that we could tame,
and forgotten
how awfully strong and wilful
the real event was.
Wind rushed into my face and
sound whistled, boomed
in my ears.
I saw death today,
death for a drunk college girl
in the headlights of a train.

May #23

Cleaning,
going through papers,
things in my desk drawer,
I found a treasure trove
of love notes,
you to me.
They reminded me of things
I'd forgotten,
like how we use to write love notes
and hand them off between classes.
You bought me yarn,
we went for crabs,
I wrote pages
in your yearbook.
Funny how much you can forget
while remembering
still more.

May #22

Still worrying

Something's bothering me,
and I don't know what it is.
I do know
I want you here by my side,
and if no one comes to that party tonight,
well then that's fine by me,
it'll be just
you and me
and we can eat all of those cupcakes
(I made ten)
and complain about getting fat,
order out,
eat in bed,
then push everything off the bed
including our clothes.
I'll make it through work,
but after,
you have to promise yourself to me.

May #21

Warm sun, cold winds -
let's get rid of those.
When will it be summer time?
Let's complain about the heat,
go for walks in shady parks
and have picnics
until the ants get in the food
and the grass isn't comfortable
and the ice melts into the lemonade.
Let's go fishing
at odds hours of the morning because
that's when my dad insists we'll catch fish.
(But we won't.)
Let's go out on evenings,
let me dress up in summer dresses,
catch fireflies and trip
over high heels.
Get rid of long pants,
hoodies,
sneakers.
I want barefeet or sandals
swimsuits and tanktops,
summer skirts swaying as I walk.
When will summer come?

May #20

I revisit by walking
old places we have passed
and wonder at how happy we have been,
how joyous we still are.
We have walked streets at night
laughing, falling against each other,
clasping hands,
dispelling serious fits
by tickles and jokes and kisses.
We fight with pillows in my bed,
joke about smells and noises
and yes
embarrass each other
in public or private.
Laugh -
it's what we do.
It's what will keep us together,
overwhelmed with love,
through all those years.

May #19

Something is Wrong With My Country

Yes, yes,
we all know.
Something is wrong
with your country.
Well that's just great.
What's wrong, precisely?
And what do you plan
to do about it?
Because the way I see it
you're just standing around
complaining.
Instead of whining
about some problem which
you can't even identify,
why don't you get up there,
do some research,
decide what your cause is,
and then instead of talking,
simply do?
If it's so important -
and obviously it is,
what with your
bumper stickers
t-shirts
facebook groups -
then stop crying,
stand up,
be strong, be proud, be righteous,
and fix it.
Assess the problem.
And when you sit down
and find out there isn't one,
don't come crying to me.
I'll be making a difference.

May #18

Remember when 

I used to cry

during Grey's Anatomy

because I thought I was Addison?

Or Meredith?

Or sometimes both?

And remember when

each new week, each new episode,

always related to my life?

And sometimes -

since that was a while ago now -

when I still lived with my parents -

I would sit on the couch and squirm

as they talked about sex

 you weren't supposed to be having,

parents you weren't supposed 

to lie to,

friends you were supposed to like

instead of want to strangle.

I remember.

I don't cry now,

and I haven't watched a new episode in months,

but sometimes still I ache

for Meredith Grey. 

May #17

I still worry, you know.

I can see people telling me,

like in a movie,

Oh, you're coping so well

when on the inside

I am just beginning to stabilize.

Like any new thing,

you have to repeat it

to learn it,

to like it,

to at least

get used to it

and eventually forgive it.

I'm still coping. 

Just in a different way.

May #16

It's funny how sometimes I refuse to learn things,

let my curiosity get - well, not the better of me

but in control of me. 

Even after it's caused me so much pain

I will continue to pursue knowledge,

and maybe it's because

I have an inner quest for honesty

rather than comfort. 

It sounds true enough to me,

and so

I won't curtail my questions

or stop my subtle looking.

I just have to be prepared

for all the hurt that comes 

with looking when you're not supposed to.

(It's not just discovered presents,

but discovered crushes,

discovered hates.

And when I find them,

I must remember

it is my own fault.)

May #15

My history TA
taught class today;
the last one of the semester,
the first one he's done.
I'm proud of him,
as perhaps we all are,
for there was a roar of applause -
though
in college
that could be attributed
to delaying class.
I think he'll do well,
relate to his students
more than our professor does
(because of youth
not
for lack of warmth or humor.)
When they are younger
we sympathize more,
believe more,
forgive more.
We condemn the old
too easily,
lacking patience
for those we should revere.
Let us learn from them,
instead of make fun,
or distract from their lesson
so that we don't have to do
what we came to college to do-
that mythical, mystical verb,
learn.
Let's wish them all luck
for each year begins new in September,
not January.
Let's sympathize for the old,
for the fact that it is
their twentieth time teaching this class,
as well as the new,
for the fact
that it is their first.

writing

I knew this girl once. She was fascinating - she could bend boys around her finger without a thought, dreaded their eventual confessions of love, would always be friends with them afterwards. She dated, and when she fell she fell hard. But if it got too tough she'd quit them, almost without a thought it seemed. I only saw her cry after leaving a guy once, and they never left her. She had it made.

And then you know what she did? She went and she fell in love, harder and deeper and faster than she ever had. It was good for her, too, kept her sane during the last month of a school year when she'd been thinking about buying a pistol or running to Canada for too long. Then she did the next, most predictable thing in the world, which was, fuck it up. They'd started fighting, too much pressure in the new year, they just couldn't handle it well, their relationship changing, and she got scared. Ran to one of those boys, the type she was used to, and hoped it would help. Maybe she'd get over this love, too, and maybe things would go back to the way she was used to. Maybe she'd forget that great love.

Didn't happen. Couldn't happen. When you love someone the way she did, well, that's the end of it. Your life, without that person, is gone. A love like that is permanent, life-changing. It's the kind of love that you can never move on from, you can never get over. The kind of love that makes people get married and stay together, for fifty years, and then when they die and come back - they find each other again, their souls in different bodies, and really they're together for eternity. She couldn't escape that, and once she came to her senses she realized she didn't want to. She wanted that love, she could never hope to find that love with someone else.

Of course she went back, are you kidding? It took her four months to get him back for good, though, and a lot of pain and crying and convincing too. It's hard to win a man back, harder if you've broken his heart, but she let him break hers in return. It wasn't quite even but it was right, more right than they knew.

Now? Where are they now? How the hell should I know? Off somewhere, happy, I'm sure, dreaming dreams and making children the way they were made to. Just hope you find a love like that, child. It's what'll complete you, and all of us, a love like that.

May #14

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

there is hope
for the girl
who cries too hard
and longs for
permanent respite.

there is hope
in the form
of a lover, a boy
who hurts her
but at least is trying.

there is hope
and they'll make it
she just has to fight through
and realize
this all will pass.

but until that time,
he can't hold her too tight,
or tell her he loves her too much.

This, too, shall pass.

Just love me.

May #13

I've never had a greater love,
nor one that hurt so much.
I've never had a better boy,
nor one who's taken so much.
But I've never been as painful,
as in this relationship,
and I've never been as needy
or as willing to give.
So I have to know,
it's give and take,
and right now,
I'll do the taking.
But there's only so much
til I bleed him dry,
and it's selfish
to even try.
So I've got to move,
and be happy myself,
instead of depending on others.
But in the meantime,
I've still got his love,
no matter how hard it might feel.

May #12

I feel like I've paid
for the wreck of the day,
the traffic jam I'm found within me

I feel like I've gone
through the pain,
it shouldn't be long
til I'm breathing again

I feel like I've lost
the security I had
feel like I'm tossed
on seas gone mad

I don't know what to say
I don't know how
to make you understand
I feel alone now.

I want to be there,
lie in your arms,
and know that you really do care.

May #11

it's that simple i guess
three words
lined up in the right order
to say something
indefinite
indefinable

have you ever had that
feeling taken away?

i have
and its the worst
feeling

emptiness
you're so alone
even if that person
that other person
is lying there holding you

because if they dont feel the same
it becomes a lie.

thank god for love
and thank god
i have mine.

May #10

I could stay up and not sleep at all,
finish my novel,
sip hot tea,
pet the dog,
be poetic and ridiculous.
But I could be pragmatic,
and return to bed,
and be slightly less cranky
for two hours of sleep.

The first appeals more to me,
but then I remember
that boy I've left in bed
and I know where my heart lies.
He will not wake up without me.
It is simple;
I return,
novel unfinished,
essay unwritten,
water hot on the stove.

Love comes first.

May #9

Early morning Sunday
watching the sun rise
and I am all afever with the joy of it
the life that I can feel
springing
deep within my bones.
I want to dance in the upcoming sunlight,
celebrate the glory of it
with all my being,
and I hear the birds calling to me
as I stand at your kitchen sink
and contemplate tea.
I can feel the powers
of the universe that I believe in
pulling at my heart,
calling me to join,
but I will not, not tonight,
for it is far past bedtime
and far too cold
and you are far too alone upstairs
unaware of my desertion.
No, I will return to thee,
my love,
and bring down the sun some other day.

May #8

To His Unknown Mistress, Upon Occasion Of His Death

You and I shared the same bed,
rested unknowingly both our heads,
lay we close by night to night,
two beds, two girls, one man, one life.

You and I had different souls,
different visions, different goals.
While you wished to make your pay,
I strived for peace for every day.

I was bound to him for life,
fought with him, constant strife.
You gave you with no joy,
indulging just another boy.


He had two girls, he had twin lusts,
but what of that other goddess, love?
We lay with him because we must,
not because we shared his trust.

May #7

I can feel the liveliness of spring
in the cooling mornings,
the promise of wet dew on dark grass,
and my heart swells.

May #6

For some reason
things are hurting more recently.
Maybe it's too much thinking
maybe it's security
giving me time
to become insecure.
I'm pushing it away
into corners and closets
but sometimes it seeps out
of the corners of my eyes
trickles down my cheeks.
As it runs down
it fades
and it is smoothing away
into the past
even as I cry.
But hold me close
night by night
no matter what.

May #5

I think tonight
I will convince him to go out
in the early hours
and watch the sun rise
as we languidly,
sleepily talk about nothing
and pretend to regret
staying up
all
night long
while really we will remember
how we loved and lived
and it will be perfection cherished.

May #4

Note: I wrote a May 3. I published a May 3. Perhaps Blogger ate it. Onward.




What Cosmo Taught Me

Cosmo said,
Living with a man
means getting comfortable with him.
Beware!
Once he sees you clipping your toenails,
you'll become usual to him.
Keep up an air
of feminine mystique -
or lose him!
And I, the little tadpole,
eager to learn and to please,
swallowed the lesson whole
and when my life came to
the turn I am,
when it came to sleeping nights together
and spending days together,
it sped out of my mouth again
at some moment.
So I measured my life
against those
glittering, laminated scales -
the Scales of Cosmopolitans -
and found myself
perhaps a little wanting
in decorum.
Yet I knew
I was still a wonder to his eyes,
could still impress him
with a simple dress-up
and could turn him on
with a look,
whether I was sleeping in
his ratty tee or no.

May #2

This started
as a poem
about staying up late
and morphed
into something I'm not
ready to talk about.
We will stay up late
and not discuss
but live in love instead.

May #1

Was that the first of May?
Did my mayday fly by
so suddenly, so unnoticed,
full of twenty four hours -
just like every other day -
but commentless,
uncelebrated,
unloved?
Mayday, mayday,
holiday,
a better indicator of spring
than any equinox.
And dismissed, out of hand,
gone already -
already it is the second day
and I cannot go back
into time and reverse it.
Goodbye, my day, may day.
Goodbye.