Attention:

I left him waiting once again,

And there he stood, so free,

As I then spent my tired heart

On whoever let me.

He soon sat at a table near

Mine, I waved, then eager

To see him waiting for me here—

But turned back to my group

For I was losing their devotion—

I always did have his. 

My Siamese Twin

Conjoined at the hip,

Not by fission

But fusion,

I needed her,

But she was dying.

It was not my decision

To separate—

Separate from her

My body felt lighter.

The air, heavier

Where she had been—

My muscle memory missed her.

The outgoing one,

Only through her

I found my connection to the world.

When my friends next saw me

They only asked where she was.

Without her by my side, they soon forgot me,

For there was no one calling to remind.

Silence in Therapy

I wish her place were just a little messy

So I could see just what I need to clean

And if she’d tilt her head a little more

When sipping from her mug of earl grey tea,

I could lean over to my left and knock

The plastic vase of purple, blue, and smooth

Clear stones off of the otherwise dark, old

And empty table, without her seeing

My clear intention. My heart would bounce

Just like the stones— and I would watch where each

Small rock would fall, disorder fueling my

Disorder— I would fall then to the floor

And count each one, there’d be thirteen purple

And sixteen blue— or five full sets of three

With one leftover still. And thirty-three

Clear stones. At least I would have time to sort

And separate before she turned and asked

Me just what makes me feel such comfort

In counting— I would then respond by placing

Each stone back in the vase— by only touching

Them with the pads of my right thumb and my

Fore finger— now the sound of each one dropping

Could drown her out and when the three full layers

Felt right, I would then place the vase back in

Its place— to knock it over once again.

For in perfection, it could not be perfect. 

In a Parking Lot

I'm breathing out and in at the same time.

The center console

Pushes into his side

As he consoles me.

He can't be comfortable

But he stays still

Reaching across,

His torso twisted;

Only his hands move

Drumming soft music

Onto my back.

My eyes closed,

I can't see if anyone is walking by.

But if she is,

My tears are so minute,

In the minute it takes her to walk to her car,

She's not thinking twice about them.

A girl stops at the entrance,

Entranced,

By the number of people inside

Sitting alone.

She makes up stories

For each of their lives:

What they ate for breakfast,

Favorite season,

Where they're from,

The song stuck in their head--

The content

That makes them content.

What would she make up for me?

If she saw my tears,

Would she, at least, know what they're for?

She'd think I was grieving

The loss of my dear Great Aunt Evelyn

Who sucked on butterscotch,

And gave me two dollar bills each Christmas,

Who always excused herself when leaving the room

Who insisted on calling me

My first and middle name.

Who always had an excuse for leaving her glasses behind.

Who passed away while taking a nap last Friday.

I don't know anyone named Evelyn.

The beat is slowing on my back.

He begins to let go

But I stay close,

My eyes closed.