Cold Shoulder

Sunset Over Atlantic

The tan line on my ring finger has faded,

just another reminder of the time we’ve lost

since that day at the beach when my ring

washed away with the tide. We couldn’t afford

to replace it. Maybe I should have taken that as

a sign.

Dusty Morning

At least I told the truth, and yet

the truth of the matter is that none of it matters.

Reasons why, what made it die, the goodbyes-

I cry but none of the questions wash away.

It just makes mud, mudding up my mind,

making me wonder more and more: why?

I wish I had that answer.

I wish you had that answer.

I wish, as you sat there in your leather jacket

with no shirt, and me underdressed

in faded pajamas and old jeans,

I wish you could have said- or maybe I don’t.

To accept that it happened is

a challenge alone. To know why is more than

I could stand. Who, what, when, and where:

these will have to do. I’ll never accept a reason

why you can’t forgive me the way I forgave you.

Tentative Tango

One, an unfamiliar smile

I don’t know how to understand.

Fingertips brush my waist, hem

of shirt, pale skin untouched

by sun. Hot breath on my ear,

body to body. Hand resting

in the small of my back. I want to

not want you as much as I do.

Two, palm runs down my side

breast to thigh. Breathe your sharp

scent. Gasp for forgiveness. Push

away, pull me close, make me

melt into seductive warmth.

Mold to match your form.

I am in over my head, and I

like not being able to breathe.

Three, tempo moves too fast,

past the barrier that was your

car door. Pressed to you,

horizontal, clothing optional.

I can’t keep up with four/four time.

Wonder if Eve knew what she

was getting into. Did she know

fear before the fruit?

Four, I can’t understand myself.

Fear, frustration, desire, despair,

give me room to breathe, I’m not

ready to go without air, not ready

to take that bite, not ready to

want you. My skin aches as you

pull away, disappointed. I guess

I don’t know how to dance.

Passerby

You know, I really love it when you pretend

that I don’t exist.

You climbed out of your car,

alone in the grocery store parking lot.

We made eye contact,

I almost dropped my bag of eggs.

You locked the car and zipped up your jacket

and jogged to the door, out of the cold

as if I never even existed.

Not even a smile?

The least you could do is acknowledge me.

My stomach clenches as

I shove food into my trunk.

My appetite is gone.

So ends the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me. I hope you enjoyed, whether you read the entire collection, or only caught a few poems along the way. If you haven't had a chance to read the whole thing but enjoyed what you saw, I'd encourage you to go back to the beginning and read the collection, since I think it works well as a combined product. Whatever your feelings on my work, though, I'd love to hear from you, praise, critique, comments, or questions. Or jokes. Whatever, really.

Thank you for reading!

Love and Hate

I’d never do anything to hurt you

  On the phone

at 3 AM. The line goes dead

as I wonder if I took hold of you

The way you took hold of me.

You sank into my mind

And made it your home.

  You still captivate me.

My mind is full of you

and all your empty promises.

It’s not fair that you were

Able to grab me so quickly.

You swept me up

Before I had a chance to

See what was happening.

Why do I love you?

Why don’t I hate you?

I wish I could read your mind

Just to know what you think

When I see you walk in

at 3:47, tears in my eyes,

because I know from the

scent of that jasmine perfume

just where you’ve been.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Before our first date you bought me white lilies. I guessed you didn’t know the symbolism. But as the two of us become one for the who-knows-what time – you, deep inside me and I, clenched tight around you – I wonder if you did. Sometimes I feel as if we have become dead together. Your burning skin pressed against me, answering my need, no longer smells like cinnamon, only sweat. As your lips caress my collarbone, my breast, my navel you no longer taste strawberry, only salt. This four-story apartment building, box-shaped and bland, no longer is a stepping stone to a better life, but just another reminder of how our plans fell through. I remember the lilies as your hands squeeze my aching flesh, too warm for a corpse. The sun rises and the birds chirp and I convince myself that we are not yet dead. Even if that sun has long faded our yellow curtains. Even if we hardly speak. Even if you no longer call me liebe, though  we still make love. Even if your touch is the only thing I’m still living for.

Beauty from the Beast

Sadness was my gut reaction

when I saw her picture in your wallet.

She: more beautiful than me,

eyes brighter than mine,

her smile sweet, pure honey.

But behind my sadness came joy.

Joy that you have someone so beautiful,

someone to love and to love you

as once upon a time I did.  What we became was

ugly, but it taught us life. We were not a waste.

But as our beautiful flowers bloomed,

we came to see we could not share the sun.

Our petals grew shriveled and brown,

choked by the harsh sting of broken promises,

of life and truth, and what is not meant to be.

He is now my light, and she is now your fire,

and as we grow apart we will grow closer to them,

and they will and lift us up toward the sun, and

we will be alive. Apart, we will grow to be

the beauty that we now know we can be.

Pop the Trunk

My life fits in the trunk of a civic

as i slide down this highway

miles pass with minutes

the separation of past and present

a stark reminder of reality

of time space and missed

opportunities it seems that

plans fall through and who’s

to say what comes but may today

be the way to tomorrow

yesterday says hello to memory

and so it goes as we toast to the old

and bring in the new it’s

true i am scared of the future

and you can’t pretend that you don’t

feel the same we all have our

boxes inside our trunks

no one can comprehend but us

so i drive my civic and

take my life from point a to point b

trying to tell myself that somehow

i’ll see where i’m going.