You began the conversation with
“We need to talk”
but talk is the last thing I wanted
I knew it signaled the demise of the silence
that held things tightly and neatly in place
It would begin the process of unboxing
which is messy, in words
Our winter come to end
in dignified formality
you were gone
breakups
S.O.S.
You think you’ll find love
and you do for a moment
in the arms of a boy
with eyes that see into
the places other people won’t
or can’t
And you fashion an image
of happy ever after
very much like the movies
you watched with your grandpa
before he died
Only the rescue
never happens
the sun goes down
and rises without him
And you realize
you were holding
the life preserver all along…
Gone
her pillow is her company
since illusion has dissolved
to reality
like darkness to dawn
an understanding
that you and she could never work
despite her desire
and she was forced to face
her neediness and loneliness
and in some instances complete lack of any sense of self so lost
she hates it all and how
you strung up her dead dignity
and let it swing in the wind to be ridiculed
she was alive
the girl who once colored rainbows in black and white lines
is unpacking dark emotions
this purge may not bring purity
but it has brought clarity
and she is glad you are gone
haiku: winter
I made you my rain
your halo like the sunshine
your winter left me
Fickle
From dust
a breath brought you to life
in me
my heartbeat
my song
Shifting moods
and dark clouds
ushered in the storm
From dust you came
to dust you shall return
Eyes Closed
It’s raining and I find myself
listening to the wipers mechanical sound
As they shift back and forth across the glass
and marveling at the cast
the stoplight’s glow leaves on the road
Green means go
and so I drive knowing this way
will never lead to your heart
yellow, pause take stock and
grip the wheel I know the red light’s coming
stop or go?
Hit the gas…we all want what we can’t have
even when it means we might not make it through
T-boned in the intersection
it’s possible
Knowing this still
I careen recklessly forward
slick roads and all
Eyes closed
Cracked
The thing about walking on eggshells
is that there is no way to safely do so
without hearing the dreaded sound
of grinding underfoot
and feeling that inevitable feeling of failure besides…
looking back at the path and seeing
nothing but debris
the brokenness of us
I’d rather not do this today.
Golifely 