when it comes right down to it

hesitate.

that’s all it takes

for me

to think that you’re afraid;

unable to articulate

what it is that holds you back,

unwilling to admit, perhaps, that

timing

is a bitch and

now

is simply not the moment-

for no good reason other than

this

is not sustainable and I

am not retainable

on such a fucking meager

ration of your

love.

2013-02-16 10.35.28

[no title]

magic lurks
in the space between fragility
and resiliency. A living
being, an uncertain
future, exhaustion, the refusal
to quit. One breath, one phone call
one bite at a time-
a constant tension
impossible to ignore
the strike
of the clock that stands
by the door
impossible to ignore,
impossible to ignore.
the strength of her hands
once inconsequential
impossible to ignore impossible
to ignore impossible to
ignore

from the second floor, leaning over the banister

How many times
did I stand
at the top
of those stairs,
listening to one-sided
phone conversations,
trying to assign
names and faces to pronouns
to determine a subject:
someone I knew? or, better yet, me?
Eavesdropping on secrets,
confessions, predictions- most of them riddles,
but sometimes a name or a phrase would stand out
and my rapt little ears would
savor, devour, chew
and consider and store it away. This is
a reminder to self of how easily
words can tear holes
in the fabric of love
and to expand the definition
of improvisation
to include ‘to parent’
as a common synonym.

Generous Love

You are not
my one true love.
We both know
there are many kinds of love
in this life, each
with its own truth
to tell. But yours reminds
the world of its capacity
for giving
and receiving,
it encourages me
to rest a moment
in the cupped hands
of the present, to bare
some soul and bask
in the heat
of mutual affection. It is remarkable
in its humility, which speaks
louder than any hubris
I have yet encountered and in its generosity,
which is the most genuine I know. I will not
tell you my love for you
eclipses all others, only that
my heart rings clear, reverberating indefinitely
across an inner
landscape that I only share
with you.

2014-07-03 19.03.22

Frog Noses

Mommy holds
my hand
very tight
asks something about a ‘prognosis’
makes me think of frog noses
I giggle, she squeezes, brows
furrowed. I bite my lip.

Later, licking swirly soft serve in a race
against the hot hot heat, she stares
over my shoulder
fist tucked
under her chin, her spoon
forgotten halfway to her mouth.

I want to tell her
she’s dripping on the table-
she hates when things are messy-
but I keep quiet, scared
of her sighs, of the silence
and of her empty eyes.