Another poem…

Loneliness

I can’t remember which toothbrush is mine
So I grab one from the drawer, one I think is mine, and start to scrub.
I’m calling your number as the bristles scour off layers of plaque and the Caesar salad dressing
Ring
from lunch while I waited for you at the table
Ring
And the bristles tug at the sugar swirls from the Skittles
Ring
I had in the car on the way home from oblivion
Ring
And I finally feel a click and I expect to hear your voice again but it’s not you…only a computerized invitation and I’m waiting through the words to leave a message at the tone for
You

But your voicemail is full.

photo credit

A quick poem

Dental Hygiene

I just flossed my teeth
And you bring me almonds
(Which I love…& I have been trying to eat more healthily, anyway)
Which, as I chew, fall into empty crevices of space where gums don’t quite reach around and hug the tooth the way they did when I was
Younger,
Pinker,
Perkier.

I toss another handful into my mouth and relish the sweet, white flesh as I decide I will happily
Floss again.

photo credit

Bullying

I’ve often been a fan of spoken word poetry, and when I saw this poem from Shane Koyczan posted by a friend on Facebook this morning, I knew I needed to share it in every venue that I could.

Speaking as someone who has been through various forms of bullying (it is one of my greatest fears for my children) and suffering silently for many years, I know that words (for good or ill) have great power. And, for some reason, sometimes the words used for ill sink deeper into our souls and fester like thorns we wonder if we will ever be able to remove.

Most days, I try to ignore those feelings–but they are there, nonetheless.

I encourage you to share this message if you feel so inclined, and to use your words and actions for good…to uplift…to inspire…and to empower.

Hugs to you. May the arms of love surround you in whatever space you may be at this moment in time.

Link regarding the poem in this post:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/25/shane-koyczan-to-this-day-anti-bullying-poem_n_2759849.html

I should be chopping zucchini…

Well, “should” I?  Or “should” I be here in my chair with my eager fingers tapping symbols made of black plastic staring at a glowing light?  (I wish I could be staring at another glowing light…one that is very bright and firey and hot…but, alas.  I am not.  Cloud Cover, you are not my friend today….)

Oh, well.

I often seem to want to buy zucchini (which, by the way, I happen to LOVE).  I add more than I’m supposed to when I make stir fry, eat all of it off my husband’s plate when he orders mixed vegetables with his meal on our date nights, and double the amount I put in my minestrone soup recipe.

Speaking of minestrone, we are having some for dinner.  Want to come visit us?  I could use the distraction of your conversation, and your smile, and the doting you would do over my soup.

(It is a really good recipe.)

But my kiddos still have coughs, so you might not want to come visit after all.

We will miss your company.

And, besides, I need to say goodbye now, anyway.  I need to get chopping on that zucchini.

🙂

Why is it so hard to hit “Publish” today?

(First, I have to say that the spacing of writing poetry on WordPress is too spaced for my taste; I prefer my lines more compact.  I have no other complaints with the format of the blog, though (other than I sometimes have trouble embedding media).  Maybe someone out there knows a solution to my spacing and media formatting issues they could share? 🙂  Second, I am stalling because I haven’t shared poetry publicly for years. Literally. I barely even write it anymore unless an image or mood strikes.  (I did try my hand at a little spoken word poetry after listening to Sarah Kay’s TED Talk, but that’s for another day.)  Anyway, here is a little piece I wrote the other morning about 2 a.m.)

Darkness to Light

 

Sometimes our toes mingle

At the appropriately named foot

Of the bed we’ve shared for almost a decade

They brush together,

Like timid fingers on a first date

Intertwining over cuticles, around layers of polish, and rough spots which were once smooth.

I love this choreography we perform each night between sheets which push down our feet, when toes sometimes join to fight the oppressive force of the mighty panel of white fabric (tucked in a hospital corner, of course).

When light streams through the window, the dance of eventide ends, and

Toes once bound by proximity are released to their own ends of socks, clogs, flip-flops, boots, running shoes.  (Most of the time I prefer mine bare.)

Still, when the darkness returns, they find each other again, like lovers after a long separation

Where they again intertwine as if on the first night oh-so-long-ago….

 

Someone once asked, “When your lover dies, what will you miss most?”

Myriad answers filled the air: his smile, her hair, his hands everywhere.

I shrugged to speak my answer, but I find it every night when he is gone.

I would miss his toes intertwining with mine, dancing this dance between panels of white.

Who will help me greet the morning if he is no longer here?