Posted in poetry, Writing

Scratched On a Receipt, Then Found In The Bottom Of My Bag:

My entire day
engulfed in words

gulping at verbs
grasping for adjectives
and at the end of each sentence

is you

with a match
ready to burn
all effort.

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Posted in Uncategorized

Do You Have This In Black?

There it is, the New Year, standing on the front step. Patiently waiting for you to open the door and usher him in from the cold. You can see the fresh hanging onto collars and dangling from earlobes. Grab the coat of the previous year, while helping her into it, one arm at a time. Kissing each cheek, a fond farewell. Perhaps not.

They brush shoulders crossing over the threshold. One gives a nod, the other a glare.

All that you didn’t do, walks out.

All that you want to do, walks in.

You embrace the New Year in a familiar way. Taking his coat and draping it on the good hanger, the black felt one. You properly place it in the hall closet, behind the red dress you once looked stunning in and the suit coat that no longer fits your son.

Welcoming new friends, your arm opens to show him the way into the kitchen, where the finger foods of meat and cheese are slowly warming on the kitchen counter. The half drank bottles of whiskey and scotch are bunched together, as if they are huddled in a secret meeting of sorts. You pour one for yourself, one for your new friend.

You rest your chin in the palm of your hand, while your waist leans over the granite.  You ask your new friend, with a drunken star sickened look, if this will be the year.  He takes his glass and raises it a bit before taking a small swallow. As he smiles, you feel the burn.

Between laughter and cries, you catch a glimpse of the previous year. She’s out in the yard, standing with her face held upwards towards the sky.  In between branches extended like bones from torsos, the stars pop out like pin holes in velvet.  You catch yourself staring too. Your own face held up to the sky, waiting for cold kissed cheeks and a runny nose.

The New Year taps your shoulder.  No place for you here, out in the yard, staring up like this.  You go inside, pour another drink, sing another song, raise your glass again–but not higher than your heart. Never higher than your heart.  The New Year grabs you by the waist and twirls you in slow circles at the bottom of the stairs and you catch your elbow on the banister.

You’re too drunk to notice the pain.

The evening pushes on, into late night. Everyone moves into the living room, kicking throw pillows out of the way and anxiously shaking bottles of champagne. We are all carrying the stars in our eyes, at least the twinkle portion. Toothy grins and high fives. As the countdown begins, I glance one more time into the yard and watch the previous year slump off.

With a twinge of sadness, I mutter under my breath.  A stack of words that I half heartedly mean, a few I instantly regret and a tiny bundle of dreams that never had a chance to materialize.  The New Year comes closer and whispers at my neck, right below my ear. Words that get tangled in my hair and gold hoop earrings, “The words that leave your tender mouth are my only curiosity this year.”

I raise my glass, give a slight nod and suggest the New Year have a seat.

It’s going to be awhile.

Give the Gift

Post Christmas blues
even more so when you find yourself driving into the office
a skeleton crew meets you, sharing that same glazed face
the heat comes on sometimes and you find a constant chill hugs your frame
while you type and type and type

The detox begins
from plates piled with decadence
cookies and pies
full wine glasses and frivolous spending.

The cheer is seemingly wiped from our chests and into an empty gift bag
to possibly be used again in 365 days. Unless of course, you opt for wrapping
joy with paper. Maybe a bit of twine.

The coffee isn’t strong enough,
the breakfast isn’t leisurely

Right now,
you’d like to kick your feet up
and close your eyes

Instead, you watched the morning break
while shaking a crick out of your neck
and sipping coffee in the middle lane
of the freeway

There is no gift receipt for a Thursday
that feels like a Monday
when you’ve used up all your
vacation time.

Posted in Life, poetry, Writing

Comparision and Fire Protection

I wanted to write you out today, but I wasn’t sure how to begin.

Should I compare you to:
dried fruit, crumpled leaves, broken glass, perhaps a groggy morning.

I thought maybe I should go this route:
dirt under fingernails, gum on the soles of rubber bottom sneakers, reheated fish

Yet, none of those seem to apply.

You are constant though.

Like the beep of a smoke alarm at 4 am
With pauses long enough to drift off,

but not before you screech again

souring my mood

and chilling my skin while I stand on a chair

to knock you from the ceiling

into silence

Posted in Uncategorized

To Do: 2014

Before the wrapping paper has even made it into the trash, there will be talk of “New Year’s Resolutions.”  Another barftastic trickery of words that we all succumb to.  We’ve all made the lists. Maybe some of you are better at keeping to those promises. Maybe you absolutely refuse to make a list.  In either case, someone at some point in the next two weeks is going to ask you what you plan to do better in the New Year.

Here’s mine:

1. Be nice even when I want to throat pinch you (or possibly curb stomp you, depending on my level of rage).

2. Submit one poem a month for twelve months for publication.

3. Stop trivializing emotions.

4. Enjoy every bite.

5. Stop making lists.

6. Bring back spontaneous.

6a. Renew passport.

 

There. It’s a decent, normal size list of things I need to do more of, be better at or take the time to appreciate. Especially the passport thing.  I won’t jinx any part of possible travel in 2014, but it was brought to my attention that I needed my passport ASAP.  Which gives me butterflies everytime I think about it.  So maybe 6b should be: quit shelving your dreamer and bring her back.

So, there you have it.

Now, you know I’m going to ask, so tell me, “What’s on your list for 2014?”