revenge poem

according to somebody

I have stayed up late in vengeance

for all the day's time

dictated, transcribed, filed somewhere 

out of reach

for all the tasks done that would rather be non-done

for all the tasks added that are very much un-done

for all the tethers to self

jostled loose and limp

not worth ratcheting tight again not today

for all the little things--

    absurd grief

    the weight you didn't lose

    the joys you rushed on from

    not chewing enough to truly taste

    maddening crushing despair

    sleep paralysis demon for waking life

--every little thing

for these--vengeance.

dull and aching into the night

blue-lit, numb, stale

and then this poem

the revenge on my revenge

exacting one final kick

of aliveness

dim-lit, livid, free

love poem for a downfall

is the descent yours or mine, love?

on the surface

you are the freshly fallen

but perhaps

I am the one coming

quietly undone

and you are

exactly as you please

musn't be too hasty

with these things

I sit watching snow drift

spelling down demise

we talk of our daughters' futures

rice wine and rain

concrete steps and your garden

cigarettes and contradictions

the night air is thick with our talk

limbs languishing

bean vines sprawling

summer is kind

amidst a sky ever darkening

we take refuge in one another's fears

we poke little lights in the dark

with cigarettes and contradictions

For Pete

you remind me of my body

and why I still carry it with me

not for its sentimentality

but for all the things I have left to want

all my lust and prayer

rest and care

for as long as I have the juice

                                                                nothing counts without survival

you remind me of jumping fences

and of parts of myself still overgrown

unfit for pasture

the holy wild

stubborn and deranged

curdling all explanation

mocking all expiation

                                                                no one needs your needless suffering

you remind me of avoiding eye contact

with my own grief in the mirror

and how I should probably stop

and realize the seething glance

is the answer to my petition

for divine protection against apathy

                                                                nobody's coming to save us

We are all we have been given. 

He Surprised Me With Love On A Monday

He surprised me with love on a Monday. 

Not with an extra cup of coffee before work

Or with fresh dinner instead of Sunday's leftovers

Not with a ride from the bus stop

Or laundry folded just so. 

Not with Monday love.

He surprised me with declarations

That belong between hours

The gap in the woodwork

Where night purples to morning.

He held me

Like we were already grandparents

And all the photo albums had been filled

But we had not run out of things to say.

My shoulders rose, catlike 

Chafing at the 5:47pm of it all.

Of me.

But he does not blink.

Relax your shoulders

And let me love you forever.

Upon The Death Of A Rabbit

Do we keep eating the Valentine's cake

from three days ago?

The cat sniffed the body.

Apparently that's important. 

And then swiftly buried.

The child will only see

the empty pen

when she comes home. 

Not sure if that's important. 

Do we explain the sudden and fragile

to the sudden and fragile?

The cake won't last another day. 

Strawberries in January

Strawberries are not good in January. 

No use pretending. 

But it's what you asked for:

Strawberries, sliced, fresh

On top of pancakes. 

You've been losing so much weight.

I would have brought you the moon to eat

If you had asked it.

All these nights you don't come home.

If only all of your cravings

Were for strawberries in January.