The Best One

My heart swells with pride:

you are the best of me, Love. 

You always have been. 

Find a Penny

You are the reason 

that I have 

fourteen 

different-flavored 

smiles. 

You are every penny 

I have ever 

picked up, 

each distant sun that

heard my whispered wish, 

the tingle 

down my spine 

when my hand finds 

its perfect fit, 

Love...

You are lilacs 

over roses, 

the steady beat 

of rain 

on a Tuesday 

morning, 

the wings 

of a heart that 

is finally heard. 

What I mean is, 

you are magic, 

my darling. 

The only magic 

I have ever known. 

Health Care

1. I am not anxious enough for anxiety, but some mornings I worry that the world might end, suddenly, if my daughter does not slip into her backpack before 7:31 am and I cannot stop my tongue from trying to urge her out the door.
2. I am not depressed enough for depression, but some days my bones grow brittle with sorrow and I cannot glimpse even the brightest star through all the darkness. 
3. I am not angry enough for anger management, but my tongue holds scars from every battle we have never fought, and I know how to lob a hand grenade with an eyebrow.
4. I am not old enough for senility, but my mind is clouded by the years I have lived in a fog. My body refuses to believe what once was will no longer be, and it aches with memories it cannot fully recall. 
5. I am not sick enough for a doctor, stethoscope melodies and popsicle lunch, but darling, I am not all right. 

Silence

I will tell you 

what I know 

of the way 

silence 

grows roots, 

buries itself deep, 

until all that is left 

is a brutal vacancy 

where a voice 

used to be;

how words unspoken 

break down, 

flotsam 

where once there were 

proud ships, 

ash 

left from a fire 

that warmed only 

itself. 

Seeds of self doubt 

grow unchecked, 

and slowly, 

excruciatingly, 

I am alienated from

myself. 

I die between 

one breath 

and the next: 

curl up and 

leave so quietly 

so completely 

that even my 

shadow 

does not yet know

I am

gone. 

Whole Hearted

There is no magic

giving only a fraction

of your love, my dear. 

Pencils Are For the Timid

This morning: 

a pull towards 

something more, 

fingernail grazing, 

tonguetip nameless; 

my feet 

suddenly 

too large 

for shoes 

I have 

more than filled. 

This is not 

enough, 

these muscle memory 

movements 

through foggy days. 

I openhand hope 

for a season 

of becoming. 

The unfinished sentence 

begs to be 

completed- 

but I cannot find 

a pen. 

Blue Bike

There it lay- 

blue slash 

of metal 

against avalanche 

of weeds, 

tires orange with age

and pedals reaching 

out like a hallelujah 

or a whisper. 

The sound of voices 

scratching into manhood 

like ivy tendrils-

smoke against neon lights-

from the forest tapestry 

that the bike 

stood sentinel 

in front of, 

and- 

for a second-

my heart forgot 

how to play 

its own beat. 

And then a laugh 

that wasn’t 

your laugh, 

and a shout 

that never lived on 

your tongue, 

and my heart 

remembered 

once again.

May Showers

I just sit here, alone, 

in the spot where you cleft me, 

grieving your leaving, 

bereft as you left me.

They tell me the sun 

will still rise in the morning, 

I know I won’t see it, 

perpetually storming.

The clouds are just gray, 

not one silver sliver

no rainbows or flowers,

no May buds delivered.

And I know this won’t last,

clouds will one day be gone,

but by then sun itself might

decide to move on. 

Birds of Prey

I have seen them,

murderous birds, 

innumerable and gaunt,

their screams like

talon-painted chalk

across the sky.

Their blood-glued beaks

glisten in the sun

it is only the color 

of death

amidst darkness.