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No Apologies

Cut the Hydrangeas down right before spring
They must shed the wilted brown pompoms 
Even though they made it through the winter
Those wicked brown bunny tails are dead
Dead and done and not going to bloom again
Snip the stem at the juncture and the bush will 
Bud in new directions this year and who knows 
What colors will emerge from the green.
There are so many lives in this window box. 
So many years of not knowing what's next
Suppose that this season brings freedom from 
Forgiving. What if this time the bush blooms red?
Imagine a crown of scarlet hydrangea puffs
Bouncing on the head of the Equinox Queen 
This September. What if this time around there are no
Flowers at all just a blur of leaves scorched in 
The city's summer heat bouncing off the sidewalk
Cooled by a shadow cast by a watering can?
Suppose this is the last year for apologies.
No apologies and no flowers, just juicy berries 
Falling out of the window box and onto the 
Sidewalk, sticking to the soles of shoes 
Smelling like rot and feeding the squirrels.
There are so many maybes hiding in this box
Once we cut down the Hydrangeas.
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Call Me Sweet

Hot soles rub out
on parquet
Muscles yield
Ripen by fascia
Go soft
Tackiest leatherbound basketballs
Lose grip
Leak air
Cede dimension
Tight webs of nylon
go slack with penetration 
Form holes
Are ripped from their perch
Replaced
Lessons
Hard like bibles
Hard like heads
Collided without intention 
of a kiss 
Hands smack backboards
Because layups don’t count
if you can’t
beat glass
Hard because soft
is harder
won
Pound the ball
Crash boards
Take charges
Initiate contact
Drive your shoulder into his chest
Hard enough
to make space
Not so violent
he earns sympathy
Call me soft
or sweet
Blame me for your losses
Know that I still dance
Through the defence
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FEBRUARY 3


There are times 
in everyone's lives
that require being surrounded
by those you hold
or by those you feel held by
to step up, be real,
or in any case
just be open, warm.
All of us possess
a modicum of inwardness
but dividing attention
is still the real art form,
fecklessness isn't that...
life is hard enough to
keep triggering gewgaws
on your mantelpiece
it isn't expanding,
its demanding- demeaning
subtracting meaning.
It's as though the outside cold 
wasn't enough
for these winters.

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New Ghosts

I'm already dead
But I'm a cute ghost like Casper
They don't really make cute lady ghosts, do they?
They are all moaning like Myrtle
Or haunted and roaming on moors
I'm a new type of faustina
The kind you can drink a beer with
And as you watch the liquid froth
In my translucent stomach
We can talk about all the places
You have yet to travel
I can't come with you, though.
I'm tied here to the place I died.
Don't worry, I'm fine here
Watching it all work itself
Around my shimmering form
I'll still be waiting when you get back
And we'll talk about how alive you felt
Learning new ways to say, "It tastes delicious."
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Landlocked

Being landlocked was never a bad thing.
The ocean only brought wild-haired
Salted skin tribes and cheap fish.
There was nothing out there to discover.
The mystery was less intriguing than
The sure flow of the rivers dividing nations.
No one longed for a beach vacation when
The air was so pure and the views so
Strategic in the hills. They built cities
In the valleys and let them take root.
Boats were smaller and streams flowed
Exactly where they were supposed to go.
The expansive landmasses left so much to
Be discovered right here, right where you are. Right where you needed to be.
Did seafaring give you a better understanding of who you are? Are you satisfied knowing what it feels like, the wind filling your sails?
Do you ever miss the mystery of dawn
Over  hills you could climb blind?
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Another timeline

In another timeline,
I flew home to be at the deathbed.
I brought good, cheap wine
And macarons along.
In another timeline,
Begun at the juncture
Of here and there
I never left Pennsylvania
So I never came back.
There's this other world
In which we never tried
And failed to start a family
So we never had to redefine
And disintegrate what we are.
But there are no other routes
I could have followed
To arrive in this bed
In this dim light
Next to this unexpected body.
In another timeline,
I'm wishing I had this.


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