‘High-Functioning’

it can be quite a cross to bear — no – to haul

into this small office every day

with a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes

my silent crucifix of ‘expertise’

no one knows of yesterday’s lorazepam

or the sharp-edged fangs of today’s plan

so i scrabble on the cobbled streets

to keep my precious cross with me

monsoon season

steamy breath of asphalt cigarettes

sandals slapping puddles and the dogs

scurrying, tails low, to avoid the raindrops

skittering across poppy petals

faraway thunder grumbles in

the half-sunny, half-black sky

and i keep walking, still

far from home

School St.

Churning away time, walking through dusk
Up dusty double track to the new subdivision
Great owl took flight from a fencepost
My dog straining to catch so many desert scents

Light drains from the sky, one pinprick star
Neighborhood kids pedal glow stick bikes

So tell me about everything in this town
Winding down School Street, your childhood home
Feet heavy with dew from cutting through yards
Sandals pad driveways, gravelly steps

I stall outside my house and linger
Ponder how to stretch the night longer
Let your silhouette recede under the streetlamp
Knowing sleep will elude me tonight

Outside/Inside

I walked through the neighborhood before dusk
A lilac breeze blowing enough to wonder about a jacket, so
I tucked into myself a little tighter

Thinking isn’t it funny how I invite the natural world into my house
With my plants, my pets, my own body and all its strange/perfect biology
Into this place considered not-nature

Yet out here crows fly toting sticks for nests,
Poppies flourish in a violent orange,
Frost creeps through the grass even in June,
Tufts of cotton float through the sky,
as I shift between outside/inside

a million triangles

i didn’t want to lie
but i also didn’t tell you
as he was on me breathing
horrible decay on my cheek
i easily dissociated

to the mexican restaurant on main st.
where you told me you were adopted
and i folded my napkin into a million triangles

we studied each other with smiles
to communicate what words lacked
my throat choked with-love??
but it was much too early to say that

snow n my dog

bundled cozy by the holiday lights w/ soft sweet chai
to heat my snowy heart — me & my dog
running thru the falling flakes
can’t outrun my problems tho —
my heartache remained after we thawed
out in the Honda backseat, dog tired
her lil head bobbing into sleep

Come Around

I still walk by your little pink house
especially after dusk when
your landlord won’t see me
and get to wondering
why that girl is hanging around again

Also I still daydream about our kiss
in your living room
with the heater roaring blissfully
ice melting into your whiskey
you stroking my hair

Now I nurse my anger
as if training a fighting dog
to keep you back if you come around

or if I try to come around
he will maul me too

The Long Circle Around the Sun

The Earth has created a long circle
around the Sun since we last touched
and yet I still can’t meet your eyes
when they hold so little guilt.

I didn’t mean to hurt you

If you say that, are you absolved
of all blame? Your summer came early
and left me cold in June. I shivered
from these burns that still ache in the sun.

Warmth will return
as I tip slowly on my axis to face
a new direction, and it will not be you
that thaws this ice.

The Pebble

I do need to keep some bitterness wrapped in my heart,
lest I spend too long staring at your jawline and cheekbones
and begin to forgive you.

There will always be a hard pebble of resentment lodged in my stomach
so I do not begin to fall in love with you.

You protected yourself by pretending to want me
when you still loved someone else.

I will protect myself by swallowing a few seeds of hatred
that will grow into a creeping tangled vine.

200 years ago

200 years ago I would have been biding my time
in a heavy wool dress gathered around my legs
hem growing dirty from the fire’s dust and ash
feet raw on an icy stone floor

Watching for the arrival of a stagecoach
or maybe a wiry boy on horseback
exhausted as he thrusts a tattered envelope
before my eager and nervous face

Maybe I would brew a cup of tea for the occasion
and sink into the old patterned armchair
or I would flee to a lonely field thick with snow
to slide that precious paper into my hands

But likely I would already be long-married
pressing a damp child to one shoulder
stacking wood on the fire as ice decorated the window
rushing to check on the rising bread for my husband

200 years ago I would have been more patient
less desperate to hear from you within the day
instead of indulging the itch to check
my texts, my emails, over and over