To Mona Lisa With Love

Hey Mona Lisa, I've got a secret-
I'll whisper it, you'll never tell.
I know by your smile you've some of your own,
And are practiced at keeping them well.
Dear Mona Lisa, I know that you've heard
Your share of the barely breathed truths-
I know I can trust you, for your lips are sealed,
Your opinion on these things is moot.
Sweet Mona Lisa, my secret is this:
I do not envy your grin,
My heart is too full to wish for a smirk,
My joy shows in each picture I'm in.

What Remains

I keep the memory of your voice
like some people carry snapshots
in their wallets or
put pictures on the wall or
in frames next to their beds.
It is there,
after a long day of missing you,
ready to make me smile as only you could.
I keep the feel of your hands
like some people hold onto old clothes-
worn with age,
but soft in the places that demand it.
It is there,
on the back of my neck,
squeezing all the love you possess
into me.

Please Leonardo

Please Leonardo, fashion me wings,
Make them of feathers and tar.
I won't play Icarus, I know my place-
I promise I won't go too far.
Please Leonardo, I need to fly:
To glide above treetops and lakes.
I know you can do it, my Renaissance man,
And I'll trust the contraption you make.
Please Leonardo, leave Lisa behind
My smile will put hers to shame-
Just tell me you've made them, my beautiful wings;
The world will soon whisper my name.

The Optimist

In college,
my poetry professor bemoaned the
lack of angst
in my writing.
Years later,
I find myself wondering
if even now
my poems would please her.
Heartache makes great art,
I'm told,
but the sun looks the same
whether it is rising
or setting,
And why shouldn't
four ounces of water
be a half full
cup?

Waterlogged Desert

Sometimes I believe that every drought is false.
I am proof of the water inside of us, never to abate.
There are oceans in my eyes, and
rivers on my cheeks.
I am drowning in the loss of you.

Left Behind

Grief makes us strangers
even to ourselves,
searching for how it fits together:
the loss and the forgiveness-
absolution for our relief-
that we are still alive.

#besties

What makes a best friend-
Is it someone who knows you?
Someone to challenge you,
Someone who grows you?
Someone to hold your hand,
Just let you cry?
Someone who pushes you
up towards the sky?

The number of coffees or
number of laughs or
the number of secrets you share?

The fights that you've fought or
the tears that you've wiped,
Or the times you have braided my hair?

The truth of the matter, no matter the measure,
You win by a long shot- there's nobody better!

I'm All Greek to Me

I am a dead language,
and you-
you pronounce every word
perfectly.

You and I

If you are the church then I'm a believer;
If you are a dream, baby, I am your dreamer.
If you are an ocean, then I am a whale.
You're a sandcastle? Love, I am your pail.
If you are a drumset then I am the sticks,
You are the chorus line, I am the kicks.
You must be paper, for I am a pen,
You're my cocky rooster, I'm your plucky hen.
You are the morning sun, I am the dew,
Whatever you are, I can't be without you.

Midnight

We can proceed
in our lives
just as easily
from love to love
as from loss to loss.
A good thing to remember
in the middle of the night
when you're not sure
how you will get through
the next breath.

I See

Is this it?
All that I have needed?
Just this-
perfect stillness,
needing nothing
for

 just

     one

          minute?

Did I just need
to be seen?
Seen through,
seen completely,
seen without fear?
Is that all
any of us
ever want?

The Dance

Fate loves the fearless
Joy loves the tearless,
The melody loves me with you.

Sun loves the blue sky
Shores love the sea's tide,
If you're dancing, I'm dancing too.

The rock loves the mountain,
The well loves the fountain,
My shoes love to tap out this beat.

The trees love the forest,
Songbirds love their chorus,
My hand can feel your hand's heat.

Generational Secrets

Our children,
our grown children,
might
or might not
know the secrets
of their parents
but they'll surely possess
secrets
of their own.
How strange
to know someone
so entirely
and also
not at all.
If the secrets were spilled-
red paint on white canvas-
would they regard us
with affection or
resentment?
Would we be
amused or
horrified?

Fish Most Fowl

Fishes never walk on land,
And neither do they fly,
So why on earth would someone search
For gills up in the sky?
A bird who flies can walk about,
But rarely ever dives
And never chooses water
Over blue and open skies.
For fish and bird to fall in love
Would truly be bizarre
But never stranger, I suppose
Than things the way they are.

Simple

The rhythms don't matter,
The rhyme scheme is moot,
The meter is pointless,
And off-beat to boot.
There's figurative language,
Allusions and codes
And poetic license
In each of these odes.
The part that means something,
The part that is true,
Are these three simple words, darling:
I, love, and you.

Growing Pains

She told me,
hearts don't break.
The ache you feel
is growing pains:
too much love,
pumping just like blood.
Once we give birth to love
it never dies.
Like a child,
the first is never undone,
only added to.
And I wonder if
she's right-
if those who have
lost the most
have also
loved the most,
until their heart-
so full-
must burst.

Someone Else

Everyone is always
Becoming someone else
And leaving home.

I was a girl-
Now I am a mother.
You were a son-
Now you are a husband.
And our daughters,
Once infants,
Are growing too fast.

Everyone is always
Becoming someone else
And leaving home.

I watch you daily,
Becoming someone else-
And still you stay.

Words Matter?

What do words matter to deserts?
Which song brings the oceans to tears?
Have poems caused the mountains to tremble,
Or lyrics brought pause to the years?
Has literature brought out stars' twinkle?
Or made one of the planets to spin?
When has a song kept the sun from its shine,
Or prevented the clouds rolling in?
Which ditty will stop a bee's buzzing?
Which limerick halts fish in the stream?
When has a melody stopped dogs from barking,
Or brought about one of my dreams?

Grape Crushing

My bachelor uncle
makes his own wine:
Goes down to the docks
in the early morning damp
to pick the right grapes,
Zinfandel, Carignan, Grenache.
My cousins turn the crank
as we sacrifice grapes
to the wine press,
raking our fingers across the grates until they are sticky and
painted black
with the skins of fallen fruit.
Children dance
in a vat of juices
that they will drink
someday-
at their own wedding,
perhaps,
or their first child's baptism,
or on a
Tuesday.

Mama Said

My mother always told me:
Brush your teeth,
Make your bed,
Wear clean socks,
Brush your head,
Eat a breakfast nice and warm
Stand up straight, don't cross your arms.
And I did what mama said.

My mother taught me
Watch the road, and
Save for rain
Beauty always
Comes with pain,
And don't kiss boys whose eyes don't close,
Whose smile leaves you on your toes,
And I did what mama said.

The Truth Is...

There are certainly,
unquestionably,
indisputably
many untruths in this world.
Bread molds before the expiration date,
gadgets are broken before the next infomercial hits the airwaves,
and flattery paints the world in dubious colors.
It is also the case that there are unshakeable truths.
We learn these in school:
2 + 2 = 4,
red and blue make purple,
and every good boy does fine.
Even more astoundingly,
Truth can be found,
in the wings of a butterfly or
the minor chords on a violin.
But,
most magical of all,
you exist,
my darling one.
And you and I
are all the evidence of Truth
I'll ever need.

Supergirl

My daughter slips still sticky arms through blue dress straps.
"I want to fly like Superman," she announces,
"not marry him.
Off to the rescue!"
And out of my room she swooshes, arms outstretched and hair blown back.

And of course I want her to always save the world,
To think of herself as the hero and not the damsel that society will try to paint her as,
But right now, I'd settle for a few more years of sweet stickiness.