Waiting For You

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The sailboat waited for the wind,

for the tide to rise, and the clouds

waited for the sun, while the trees waited

for rain.  The river waited for the moon

to tell its tidal tales, and the fish waited

for the river to flow their days.  And it was

quiet, and still, and I was waiting, too.

I was counting tides on the sailboat,

waiting for you.

no words left for me

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Remember how I waited

for all the words you didn’t say,

like the gasp the sun makes

just before she dives into the sea,

and yellows and oranges turn deep,

into blue foghorn songs in the dusk.

Now I walk dark streets in silence,

to see if your words hang there,

waiting, a song to be collected,

but block after block is empty,

quiet, no words left for me. 

New Years Eve, 2012

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I’m starting this year in a black dress and combat boots.

Gone are the wasted minutes of waiting,

replaying reflections to find reasons, seeking reassurance;

that’s all behind me, flattened by boot prints.

But look up, and you’ll still see the sweet I hold on to,

I cherish, like the quietest cloud at sunset,

or the taste of music, or the feel of blue.

I’m still here this year, with boots to carry me through.

 

Writing Poetry

Always somehow ripped

at the corners, wrinkled

down the middle, and looking

like day old coffee

stains have more weight

than the words on the page.

Printed again, it still turns

out the same, so I leave

it there, on the corner

of the desk to soak

in early morning rays and

to whisper to me, though

I turn away and sip my coffee,

tired of its dusty words.

I am you, it taunts, with its stains

and wrinkles, rips and fades.

And knowing the words on it have never

lifted it past the desk, no one

has said yes, yes, but only no,

its torn corners wait, and I rest

my coffee mug upon it, leaving

an uneasy circle across my words.Image