that's mrs. mediocrity to you

for seventeen years
we’ve been crossing bridges
as we’ve come to them

sometimes together

sometimes separately

sometimes meeting in the middle
from opposite sides

always finding our way home

to hold hands in the dark
watch the moon dancing with the stars
warm our toes by the endless fire

we’ve been here

there

and back again

it all started
on a bridge

from one heart
to the next

spanning years

as together
we watch it
flow

.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. M

She’d spent her entire life dancing on the edge of perfection, cutting hands and face and feet on the razor-thin precipice of need. Growth occurred, but randomly, and in all sorts of crazy directions.

The light was always what attracted her, when it was the dark she should have been reaching for. Everyone knows that all the real truths lie hidden in the shadows.

But she avoided the gloom like a child afraid of the monster beneath her bed.

She just wanted her moment in the sun.

When it came, she was surprised to see how many scars she had acquired along the way.

Even so, she tilted her face up and she smiled, opening her arms to embrace the warmth upon her skin.

.

.

.

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split and peeling,
cracked and scarred

still, it’s not that hard
to look
beauty
in the eye
on the days when
all around you
defeat is the ritual
of rising

and death sits
just left of the sun
right where you always
thought he’d be

though it isn’t fear
you see on the face
expected to be
so ugly

just the kaleidoscope
of promise
glinting off
the corner
of dawn
giving you
one more chance
to get it

right

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he brings her flowers
and that is what she will remember
as they walk her into
the cage of old age
too old to fight
and too weary to cry
but strong enough
to understand
that life is filled
with wrongs

he makes his way
back to a car
filled with forms
and receipts
cat hair and missed
moments and he sits
for a moment with tears
in his eyes before setting off
towards the comforts of home and
cold sandwiches

.

.

.

A dear friend of my family (really more like family than friend)
who is 86 years old, had to give up her independence this past week.
It was hard, oh, so hard, to watch.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for”people” at Poetics, join us!

Also linking up with 100ThousandPoetsForChange” at Tashtoo’s Place.

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it could be

the road to nowhere

it could be

the road less traveled

either way

here i stand

right smack dab

in the middle

.

my wit has left the building and
elvis is everywhere

i have wrinkles on my ankles and
my favorite pajamas
are unraveling

i love crows but that
doesn’t make me dark
at least not as far
as you know

i survive on
hope and chocolate
wine and water
pickles and promises

i spent the first 49 years
of my life hatching
a wise old crone

i expected to hate her
but find myself
suddenly falling in
love

my sister cried when
elvis died
and all i could do
was hold her hand

while she said
yeah yeah yeah

and that’s from a song
you’ve probably never
heard

.

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you never know
where life will take you

we like to think we know
or at the very least

can guess

but

we are born
with all the knowledge
we need and
spend the rest
of our lives

forgetting

each step brings us
a tiny bit closer
to understanding
that in the end
we know

nothing

because even in
the worst of years

the driest hottest
drought of summer

can bring forth
the perfect blush

of one september
rose

.

.

.

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.

the unspoken syllable that catches in your throat

.

the kite caught in the high bird branches of a tree

.

the smile that plays across your lips on a thought kept silent

.

the reflection of a life in another broken mirror

.

the leaf that never made its way to freedom

.

apparently i’ve forgotten
how to be offended on my own
i need instructions
reinforcements
coaching and
missives, shouts and apoplectic
derision

to come to the conclusion
that everything you say
or do
or think is wrong
even when it is

i wander these streets
lost but not wanting
to be found

listening

shhhh

listen

here
i can hear
myself think

remember thinking

back before it was
all done out
loud

and i’m craving grey
with its less than stark
observations

something soft and not
at all cataclysmic

to rest my head on

for just

one minute

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

equality is not the same as experience

and it makes me wonder if
all the first times
have to add up
to the same number
as the last times

and who made that rule
and why do i have
to follow it

it’s all in the numbers
it can all be calculated with
equations and dollar signs

first
smile step kiss

last
kiss laugh breath

not exactly the same
not exact at all

because no one has the right answers
and no one gets to see
the cheat sheet

or all the lines, verbs, nouns and
adjectives that wriggled their way
in between

and the teacher is sitting in the corner
wearing her carefully decorated dunce cap
trying to figure out how to make
her last first time
add up

to all the time
that came before it

and she has all these numbers
crisscrossed on the palm of her hand

but she can’t find one zero anywhere

.

.

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