something

December 27, 2011

i feel like i should say
something

something to change the tone
something to prove i’m okay
something to put everyone at ease
because people worry about me
i guess

(i never feel i’m worthy of your concern
but that’s something i need to work on)

so i feel like i should say
something
so that everyone can go on about
their business and not wonder if
something’s still wrong with me

look, i’m fine. (mostly fine.)
i had a few bad weeks but now
i’m slowly lifting myself
(or rather, being lifted)
off the mat and dusting myself off.
and while i doubt i’ll be
taking any wild romantic chances
in the forseeable future,
i’m sure there will come a day
when another lovely pair of eyes
will inspire another round of mad poetry.
when that day comes, you’ll hear all about it
because if there’s anything you can count on me for
it’s the inability to hide my flash-flood feelings.

so here. here’s something to set
your mind at ease, something
to reassure you that i’m getting back to
something approaching okay.

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wince

December 17, 2011

i’d be lying if i said
that seeing your name or your picture
doesn’t still make me
wince
a little bit before
i regain my composure and move on.

it’s not out of anger, please believe me,
nor from bitterness, as if i could charge you
with wrong-doing. no, it’s simply the sensitivity
of skin still healing, a wound on the mend but
not quite yet strong enough to feel the brush of
old memories, still tender enough that i can’t help but
wince
when i think of plans i had begun making
(two concert tickets, dinner at that restaurant,
nothing monumental yet) that i have to remind myself
have turned to mist and dissipated.

i pray you’re well. i know you were not as
tipsy as i was, so your head has cleared faster.
i am glad for you. so please don’t worry about me
for though I allowed myself to get a little too
lost in that sweet fog, thus tripping and
falling a bit too ungracefully,
i am healing, not often feeling pain,
save for the occasional
wince.

after(shock)

December 12, 2011

after shock
comes a rush of emotions
not a flood
(for He will not let the waters
overwhelm you)
but a steady stream
quiet but constant

(it used to be a raging torrent
so you are thankful for its stillness)

because when it happened
you could feel it build
the text message that made the
ground shake and your stomach churn
the conversation that rattled
the pictures off your walls
but then it passed
and the dust settled back around you
leaving you in the stillness, trembling
and sinking into shadow, even if briefly

when the shock wears off
you pick yourself up and wipe away
your quiet dusty tears, and begin to rebuild
using what you learned to make your
foundations deeper and stronger
so that you can still thank God for the falling

but even as you pray, still tasting the
sweetness of thanksgiving on your lips,
your guts clench and unclench and
you hold your breath
in fear of another
aftershock

phone tag

December 6, 2011

your eyes confound my vocabulary
when you look at me, i’m rendered speechless
unintelligible
i lose my train of

your eyes are blue pools, lady
blue and clear and cool
an oasis of light and deep deep blue

i never expected to grow so fond
of a voice, as i am of yours
it’s been days since i’ve heard you speak, just
a week since we last shared table-top conference, but
it seems like longer, ageless ages, timeless times

(in your absence, my thoughts grow ridiculous)

i miss your laugh
the clipped-half laugh of relived memory.
what i wouldn’t do to make you laugh that way
someone, anyone, make me an offer–i’ll gladly sell all my
clever speech, reams of prose, libraries of anecdotes,
the Alexandria of useless words within my skull
for the single joy of making my lady smile
of winning her–

(the phone rings–there you are)

(“hello”)