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Suitcase in hand
at the door, I stand.
Reflected in glass,
my regrets of the past.

Teary eyed, I say goodbye,
he grabs a plate and lets it fly-
over my head, it hits the door.
Jagged pieces shower the floor.

Eyes glaring he stares,
spewing callous swears.
He bids me "turn around-
do it quickly, make no sound."

Steeling myself, I cast my fears
out the door, and wipe my tears.

The night is young (but so am I),
my life ahead, I need not cry.

Morning

Lips moist from the drool
that spread to her pillow
as she dreamt.
Eyes gleam
with a natural sunlight
that permeates the room
with shades still drawn.
Lips crinkle at the edges
as she smiles, embracing
each morning with a
courageous naivety.
Outside the window the snow falls
heavily; we must not leave.

The Way We Were

Our kingdom is between the sheets, 

immune to the arrows flung by 

infidelity and overdue rent.

Under the covers we are lovers, 

confined by our passion 

to extreme pleasure or depression.

Our lies will unravel soon, 

stretched thin as we stray further

each afternoon, only coming home to

dream about what could have been.

Meeting You

For years I've had no problem,
talking to them fine.
Take them out to dinner,
drink a glass of wine.

Then she came along,
not indulging in my vice.
She took me to her room,
and gave me some advice.

Go after what you want-
be confident, she said.
Easy enough I thought,
if there's bourbon being bled.

I loved to come to class,
seeing us undressing,
taking her to bed,
kissing and caressing.

I asked her out to dinner,
she agreed and I said great!
but I fucked up and got nervous-
never took her on that date.

She intimidated me,
with her smile and her joy.
I couldn't believe this young woman
made me feel just like a boy.

And while I didn't accomplish
what I'd set out to do,
I learned a lot about myself,
and I owe it all to you.

Double Dutch

Her energy is intoxicating:
more inebriating
than a scotch her age;
she sobers me.
I see her face in the setting sun;
the stars dance through the night
repeating her song.
She turns my courage
liquid-
I long to explore her,
yet my hands are stone.

A Walk to Remember

The wind stung my cheeks as I walked the path toward our favorite spot. I hadn't been on this trail in over a year.

Standing next to me was Emily, my wife of fifty years. I looked at her, and she smiled. Her cheeks rose playfully up her face, creating little pockets of joy that dared me not to fall in love all over again. Her hair was gone, but I didn't mind, it seemed to bring out the beauty of her face even more; every line and wrinkle laughing along with her.

The leaves swirled around my feet, inviting me to dance. I lifted Emily up and spun her around, laughing as if it was our wedding day. We loved to dance together, going to lessons every Sunday.

I saw something on the ground, and bent down to look at it. It was a tiny snake. I love snakes, Emily- not so much. She didn't like slimy creatures with no legs. I remembered the time I brought home a snake I found in our garden, because it was hurt. She agreed we could keep it in the house until it recovered, although she wouldn't go near it and refused to feed it. She cracked eventually, the day we were letting it go she asked me if she could be the one to release it.

I followed the snake as it slithered up the path, leading my way.

The air was brisk, and it made my eyes water. We loved the fall, the colors in the forest look like a painter had gone mad and dumped his buckets everywhere; and how we could keep warm by pulling each other close as we walked.

The snake stopped in front of a dead tree. I didn't remember this tree, or, rather, I remembered they were all alive the last time I had been here. It looked young, too young for a tree to die. I thought about the reasons a tree might die, and what had happened to this one in particular. After a few minutes, I decided that it didn't really matter how it died. Nothing could bring it back to life.

We were almost to our favorite spot, a little bench at the top of the hill, overlooking the valley below, and the mountains in the distance. During autumn, I reckoned there was hardly a more beautiful scene on Earth. The trees and plants were ablaze with color, accentuating the setting sun and the fiery horizon. I walked to the edge, breathing it in. I picked some flowers next to me, and sat on the bench. For half an hour I watched the sun sink lower in the sky. I sighed, and wished Emily could be here to see this. It had been a year since she had passed away from cancer, and I missed her every day. I placed the flowers on her grave, and started the long walk home.