Listening

I talked all evening,
but you weren’t listening.
You did your usual thing –
looked up
every now and then,
said a word,
then I’d have to start again.

If I’d shouted
and made a bold display
you wouldn’t have heard.
You might have
made some remark
as though you had,
but you weren’t
listening.

My silence
from the balcony to the bed,
the touch of my hand
on your skin, the kiss
I gave you on your back –
you were listening then.

 

All rights reserved.

Photo courtesy of Public Domain Pictures.

Traversing the Threshold

after Liminal by Helen Ivory

(first published by Ink Sweat and Tears)

When you forget to sleep
seek the cracks of your home,
how they expand and contract,
how your tread loosens the fabric.

Beware of wolf voices disguised
as cats calling to the moon, and learn
their incantations, how they shape vowels.

Imagine the moon in an off-the-shoulder
number, how your feathers could transform
into a shimmering fan-tail.

Look at the fireflies dance in the distance
as you pontificate your luggage wheeling
the driveway over the dandelions.

 

All rights reserved.

Photo: PublicDomainPictures.net.

This Moment

Winds gust over the vast stretch
while the tide spews
water to form a pattern
of a giant fish, its mouth
open to the shore – one shot
to remind me that nothing
holds its form forever –
a hand in mine, your kiss.
But this moment captured,
will remain forever the same.

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The Timeline of Five Years

(first published by Kumquat Poetry)

I curl in the chair with my Kindle
and learn how to date antiques
by lions paw, how hallmarks
give away an age. Eras gone
I cannot appreciate.

This year I started to tweet.
Five years ago Facebook
created a portal to my photos
and latest plays, updates –
mostly direct, but sometimes vague.

Sometimes I notice
the dates,
the staggered outline
in the timeline
and the gaps –

what I choose to leave out,
people and moments missed,
the hallmarks.

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Photo: PublicDomainPictures.net.