“tonight” – a poem

Thursday night,

sit and write

my calves are sore from moving metal plates.

my silent apartment motionless,

and with unconscious breath i sit and wait.

for what, i do not know

for my brain to will my legs to move,

for my heart to will my mind to will my hands

to create something new.

it seems i have forgotten color,

that i know not what to do with myself while i am alone.

it seems i have forgotten shape: the morphology of the counter-tops, of the blushing-apple trees

don’t feel like home.

perhaps i have figured out this perpetual obsession

with an unknown eve –

should i begin to walk at night,

braving the darkness, the whisper of leaves?

all that i know is that right now i feel

emptied, cracked, rushed, like water boiling too fast on the stove.

so today i called my brother, but he was busy

beginning a life that is now fully his own.

 

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“Hunger” – 2 Poems

1

earl grey tea is a misnomer

it’s really more of a deep brown and it’s definitely not an earl

in my pauper’s cup.

i wake up, head throbbing, lie there between the white sheets

like a ghost, feeling the sensations

of warmth and hunger and fog.

2

the hunger, really, is unearned –

somehow i still see eating as a transaction, a sacrifice my body makes

one which i probably don’t deserve.

somehow despite the strong curves of my body

i still need to justify

adding cream to my coffee.

3

today there is a potato festival in Ebensburg, Pennsylvania

i want to set a personal record for the amount of potato i can eat

in a single day.

 

 

 

“Morning” – 3 poems

1

when you leave in the morning,

the faint scent of you remains on our bed for just a few breaths.

i remember meeting you,

falling asleep in your arms and thinking

how right it felt, although i’d known you

a fortnight,

if we’re being generous.

2

light plays on the floor

we’re missing a tabby cat

to bask there all day.

3

the last two scoops of coffee

go into the maker, which i need to clean with vinegar

because its scent is that of a thousand cups of coffee

from a thousand mornings.

i wish you were here to share

these last two cups with me,

but you are sending melodies into the morning air

as you should be.

Two poems

1

i bike up the hill in the cool of the morning

thinking today will turn into a scorcher.

it’s the autumn equinox and

my soul still screams summer, probably because

i’m wearing shorts and sweating.

i look for coziness in a warming world where

we have no need for quilts.

i look for reasons to drink hot cider

from a mug

but find myself choosing a chilled froth instead.

i wonder if i will be different this winter

if my days will slow down and i’ll listen more deeply to the

beating of my lover’s heart

or will i only grow busier, afraid to slow down,

afraid to miss some tantalizing material drug that keeps me sedated

from the realities of life?

i want to listen more deeply to the beating

of my lover’s drum

because the scent of his skin is always sweeter

after he’s  been in the sun

it gets me drunker than rum.

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