Another Day

I woke up cold. I slept with the window open-the one right next to my bed.

The night before, I talked to you. Sitting in a park, on a bench, in the cold. Barefoot. Sobbing, shaking....."Please tell me you miss me, that you talk about me to someone!" (of course i do. i miss you. do you think this has been easy for me?) "But we're perfect for each other. You know it's true." (yes, we are. but i had to make this decision) "I'm not sorry for saying these things, for falling apart; you've had longer to deal with this." (i know. you need to say them. i don't mind. i'm listening.) It was late, and I was exhausted.

Later, after the sun rose, I felt hollow, transparent in the slanted morning light. Still exhausted, instead of calling you--you'd said we'd talk later in the day--I called someone else. (hey! you feeling better? you didn't sound too good when you left that voicemail in the middle of the night) "I'm ok. Will you to take me to breakfast?" (damn, i can't. i have to help someone move today.) "That's ok, maybe it's better that way." (what? why?) "Just...uh.....I don't know." He laughed. (you're crazy, woman). I laughed. "Is that a bad thing? I'll talk to you later. Have fun moving."

I texted him a few minutes later. **I said it's probably better bcuz I was going 2 ask u 2 come get in bed w/me & hold me first. & maybe u don't wanna be a substitute bed warmer**

*(yes i do)*

I woke up cold, and I wanted him to warm me up. Imagining you doing it hurt too much. I wanted to fit my smaller body into the curve of his bigger body and feel his arms around me. I love you, but I needed his warmth. I wanted to feel his hands hold mine, to stroke my hair, to feel his breath on my neck and tell me I'm going to survive this. He doesn't expect me to be whole, and I don't expect him to be you... it seemed like a good enough fit.

Time Wounds All Heels

The problem with being heartbroken is that we rarely get to go somewhere to lick our wounds. It's hard to heal because we have to string ourselves along through the day-to-day, pretending that we're fine. I day-dream about boarding a plane for Italy, where I'd live the life of an itinerant poet/photographer/paramour. In this fantasy, lithe, sleek men with names like Marcello and Marco woo me with flowers, expensive leather shoes, and carafes of sparkling Italian wine. That would heal my pain. But I digress....

Which is better for piecing yourself back together: loud, rangy, big paroxyms of angry grief, or the quiet, well-behaved compact existence that doesn't require more than an extended tissue to dry your tears or a pat on the shoulder?
"Time heals all wounds."
Poorly timed outbursts of uncontolled emotion scare people. Brave faces and stiff upper lips scare me. How do I reconcile my need to explode upon today's page with a hestitation to misbehave?
"Time wounds all heels."

I'll have to leave that conundrum dangling in mid-air; my kids are hungry, and it's time to fix supper.

Love Bird

Your brilliant hummingbird wings
Whispered their breath on my petals,
Before you dipped your proboscis
Into the sweet nectar of survival.
My corolla quivered at their fluttering vibration,
Blushing a deeper red at the orange and green salute.
The mystery of give and take was revealed to me in stages
As you hovered, then retreated.
Each time your forked tongue
Greedily took in more nectar.
My scent, my color attracted you,
And you drank until my sweetness was gone.
I heard your whispery retreat.

Now I am left with quivering petals
And a deep red blush, straining
To hear the humming again.

{Repost...I'm recycling old material these days}

Lavar

Rain falls lightly, steadily.
A tub of velvety, heated water with fragrant bubbles
sits in the middle of a grove.
Brilliant green fronds glisten with the moisture
Heaven has bestowed on a grateful jungle.
I float amidst the wet on wet on wet:
sky, earth, body.
Steamy water envelops me.
Cool drops launch a pleasant assault on my exposed skin-
that which does not sink beneath the cover.
The earth wears a lush fragrance of renewal;
it is verdant, fertile.

I am a companion in this ritual of cleansing,
floating in a womb.
Fears, aches melt away in the heat.
Droplets descend on me from the treetops-a covering roof-
making music as they couple with surfaces exposed.
Color, fragrance, sound: my senses are full, stretched but not broken.
I am clean, covered-invulnerable for the moment.