sleeping alone

Sleeping alone is awful.
A bed to myself is too big,
I miss your long arms and your
everything.
I thought I heard you trudging up
the stairs in snow-laden boots,
but it was just the rattling vents
making a fool of me.
Please come home soon!
I need your sleepy eyes
on the pillow next to mine.

How to write

Do I need to feel heavy when I write?
Do I need a weight on my wrists
to feel alive?
This is wrong.
This is stressful.
I can write about many things
I do not feel.
I can write about love as though
it lives on my sleeve
and about death as though
it stains my fingers tips.
But neither love nor death
pulse through my veins.
How then, one asks,
can I KNOW,
if I do not FEEL it?
I am quite certain it
isn’t about feeling at all.
It’s about
remembering.

love poems (yuck)

I am most tired of love poems.
Yes, I am surely most certainly
absolutely
SICK
of love poems.
Their arrogance,
their smug confidence.
I will be most glad to never
hear another.
Most glad indeed.

Some words

If I may write some words for you,
if I may write one single syllable,
I am afraid I must not write at all.
I am afraid the room on this page,
(existing eternally),
is not a sufficient space for the words
I wish to write you.
I am afraid the childish metaphors
I had so cleverly crafted
are bound to wilt at your eyes’ first glance.
They are weary,
they are tired,
they are so much less than you deserve.
An absolute over-simplification
of your hands
of your sly smile
and your voice.
I will, though,
attempt to convey a glimpse of the
you I love.
My words are all I have to give.
They may not be dignified
or news-worthy,
but they will be sincere.
That much I can promise.

Tomorrow

When the day is Today,
Tomorrow seems so far away.
When you’re not making me pancakes Today,
Tomorrow is like, really stinkin’ far away.
I want to take Today and smash
it in the driveway,
run it over with my car,
then burn it with matchsticks and lighter fluid until
ashes of Today float into the air, never to return.
Today is so.......what’s that word?
LONG.
Because Today is certainly not Yesterday
when I saw the smirk on your face
when I sang that Alicia Keys song
at the top of my lungs in the car,
and you said I was ridiculous,
but I KNOW you meant that you love me,
and no other girl makes you smirk like that,
and I woke you up with a story about my dream
with the baseball bats, and Tom Hanks,
and double-headed cyclops eating bombpops in the bathroom
But that was Yesterday,
which was significantly more exhilarating than Today,
sharing hands and cups of coffee and six packs of beer
with homemade chicken and dumplings.
And, god, I wish Today would just throw itself off a cliff.
I wish I could take a “nap” with you Today.
Because we both know that “naps” are just code language for a
little afternoon delight in the daylight,
We could “nap” Today just like we did Yesterday,
but Today we have responsibilities, Today we are not together,
and it’s driving me out of my mind, and it makes me crazy to wonder
if I induce the same insanity on your brain,
and I wish I were freaking Einstein so I could invent a time capsule
that would beam us into Tomorrow,
and I would make you chocolate chip cookies,
because I know they’re your favorite,
and then we would play trivial pursuit until you let me win,
because I really, really hate losing,
and then we would watch one of those awful indy movies you can’t get enough of,
where everyone cries, and dies, or tries to run away to Toronto
with a coke-addict they met on the subway,
and I would fall asleep in your lap while you brushed brown hair
behind my ear,
and then you would wake me to love me because you couldn’t wait
until morning,
and then we would sleep, you to my left, arm over my chest,
breathing in sync, legs tangled, sheets mangled, smiling through dreams,
knowing Tomorrow we wake in each others arms,
and Today is just a little sliver of history.

three words

Sometimes when I’m alone
I think about it.
Damn, I think about it even when
I’m surrounded.
Think about what it might be like
to say it. To you.
How maybe the world would stop turning
for a split second,
and maybe you might listen more
attentively than ever before.
Maybe the sheets on my bed would turn
to blue,
and my pillow, a ship,
to sail us to the middle of the ocean.
And there I would say it
again,
and again,
and again,
until you saw my words float on top
the rippled surroundings.
And maybe you would say it
too.

no you?

no you?
no star-lit summer skies.
no you?
no crunchy, caramel leaves.
no blank pages
in want for words,
not a single silver nickel
shining brightly on the sidewalk.
this world with no
you
is no world of great worth,
of course,
days will still come,
nights will still fall,
babies will cry
and mothers will coo them to sleep.
but with no you,
the days will be dimmer,
the nights will be longer,
and i will sleep lighter
in hopes of hearing steps on my walkway