missing

I miss
the sweetness of his notes.

The innocence
The ridiculous extravagance
Dinosaurs
and
More Dinosaurs
on my shopping lists.

"Beautiful"
on the backside of
a bill we did not
even open.
In such a deliberate,
careful script.

Even his notes to me
should look fine.

I found one today,
in a book -
I had forgotten it was there

I savor
(even now)
the soft lines,
the most honest kind of affection
anyone could ever give me.

I am so sorry.
I did not know how
to appreciate the perfect,
complete gift
of such plain expressions
of love.

manic-depressive

It would be better
I think
to be buried alive
than fall to your death.

That exact moment when your stomach drops
and you give in to the weightless
feeling of flight -
Your last breath
joining the wind rushing past your ears
must be
so
pleasant.

At least the damp earth is honest
when it enters your lungs.

Nana

My grandmother is Forgetting.
She is old.
Holes in her brain are becoming
holes in her memories.

I am crying.

I remember walking
across the street to see her
every morning
before school.
Sometimes there were pancakes.

I don't want her to die.

We played card games at camp
and I begged her
for quarters
to play at the arcade
and slept next to her
And I remember the sounds
her big belly made.

She deserves all the beauty she never got.

I remember when she forgot
her fudge recipe.
And when she asked me
if that beautiful boy in there
was my son.

I think I will die
if she ever forgets
me.

A Gloss on Fred Astaire

Despite what is clearly
a preference for
escaping scrutiny -
I cannot help but
pay too much attention
to the curls in your hair
the light in your beard
and the cut of your jaw
which are so
lovely to look at. 

I have also found
(after much study, which I beg you to forgive)
a cleverness which
when paired with a silly premise
and such grounded stillness
makes you
delightful to know. 

And,
if you can pardon the intrusion
into very personal territory
I will request further investigation
into the scent of you.
Tied ever close to the sense of taste,
evoking memories of such
soft lips -
heaven to kiss. 

Please accept this poem as an apology
for any unwelcome intrusions.
I have a problem with
Impulse Control
and it is so difficult
to resist
a combination like this. 

voice

I have always struggled with my relationship
with my own voice.

It is loud and deeper than other,
more feminine,
voices.

I have a tendency to talk,
let's say,
'alongside'
someone.
(when I talk at all, that is)

I have been told for years
that I needed to wait in line to speak.
and I get frustrated with myself
that somehow
I cannot.

And I am always acting like I am fighting to be heard -
I should feel guilt about that.

I do.

But does he?
Him?
What about the man that interrupted you, yesterday?
Did they realize that there was a thought,
there, in your mouth,
when they opened theirs?

I don't want to feel guilt, anymore,
about inserting myself over
(alongside)
people who feel no guilt about asserting themselves
over me.

aggressively antisocial

someone called you
"aggressively antisocial"
today.

Aggressive
and
Antisocial.

Two words I would never use
to describe you.

nothing about you is aggressive
in fact
if you were a sentence
I'm sure you would be written
in the passive voice

you said half a thought today
because someone interrupted you
and you did not try to finish it.

you are not antisocial
"have you gotten more than three words out of him?"
I wanted to say
Yes!
several more, in fact, some quite large -
and you would know, if you had asked him
anything, at all.

you do not compete for airtime
which is just fine
to someone who is not interested in
making our conversation
a competition.

that poem and A Second Gloss on Elizabeth Brewster

i was listening to

that podcast

and they threw back to

that show

that we listened to 

when we were driving 

back from 

that place 

one night. 

and it made me 

suddenly aware

of exactly how many things

can make me think of you. 

-----------------

I am writing now

To pass the time

While I am waiting for you to telephone.

- Elizabeth Brewster

earlier i was in the bath

and i thought of you. 

i didn't text you about it

so instead 

I am writing now

it's to early to sleep 

but I spent all my 

self care

on that bath.

what else will I do

To pass the time

putting the words down comforts me. 

i have always liked the deliberation

this word changed

that line switched

three times 

back

just to occupy the parts of me that obsess

so i can pace around something other than my living room

While I am waiting for you to telephone.