Fortune: Are You Good for Long Term Relationships or Just a Terrific Lay?

Now and then
I find myself hurled down
From a high joy ledge
Precariously narrow
To begin with
Slippery to sit
Cantering without reins and stirrups
Relying on feel and seat
An advanced venture.

Cuss words, mean names
Slung at me
Rocks never before lobbed,
Hitting me with
Gale force yelling
Unexpected, uncalled for
However deeply imperfect I am.

The fall is steep.
The crash impact, unforgiving
Sealing off airways
Of possible conversation, openings.
Brain cells to
A healthy future die
Leaving tissue wasted,

Broken bird wings
Crumpled sideways
Bent backwards
Mangled inhuman shapes.
Perplexed at finding myself
Sprawled out, assaulted,
I lay stunned
Chest down seeing white.
Something significant
Has happened internally
But I don’t yet know
What broke.

But I do know
The pain is real.
Tear drops spring up and out
Wetting dry eyes
Rolling down cheeks
Covered in sunblock
While riding the bus
On route to work
Belie my cold exterior.

I must carry the years
The history
The life building
In my heart, always,
And thus must still care.
And yet, there’s also
A part of me
That is too tired to care.
A definite turning off
And turning away.
This day has started
And ended poorly, indeed.

Where does one go from here?
Where is it possible to go,

There may come a breaking point
When He has had enough of me,
Not the other way around.
Leave taking won’t be forced
By me this time
But won’t be stopped by me either.

Maybe a time comes when
Neither person has anything left
To unpack and contribute to
Make the forest picnic delightful.

Reaching in,
The basket is not only empty
But turns out,
The sun has set
Making the ground damp and cold
With people surreptitiously
Glancing at watches
To see what time it has become.
No warmth and desire left
To work with.
Time to move on?

During these times,
Self doubt clouds my way.
I idly wonder if
Maybe I’m not good for
Long term relationships,
Not my fortune.

Not everyone is made
To last long term, after all.
With my ability to annoy,
Hurt and anger males
To this degree,
Maybe I just make
A terrific, short
To medium term lay
And that’s all.



Purple: The Color of Parenting

Parenting years continue
To roll out.
The grainy texture of which
I’ve been sculpting
Shaping in my hands
To build and rebuild
Malleability to form new.

I remember bringing
Our first baby home
From the hospital
After a 48 hour labor
That brought me to my knees
And resulted in drugs and
Necessary medical intervention.

Upon bringing her home,
Two graduate degreed adults
Wholly uneducated about
The care and handling
Of newborns struggled
To figure out which side
Of the diaper was the front.

We followed step by step
Instructions from a book
Which included photographs
On how to bathe a baby
Until the chord fell off
While she shivered ridiculously
Under blowing air conditioned
Overhead vents.

We read multiple nursing books
To contemplate the usefulness
Of the football versus
The cradle holds
While waiting 4 full days,
With twisted hands,
Trying to soothe a crying infant,
Until my milk came in.
Such intense moments during
The first baby’s few months
That I would not trade
For anything.

While life was far from rosy,
Filled with financial struggle
That included having credit cards
Denied at checkout
With a cart full of groceries,
The kids with me,
And a long line behind me.
So much adult loneliness too.

Still, years at home gave me
The opportunity to
Jump in and stay emerged
Under the parenting ocean
With full body smiles
And heart throbbing.

Because I was there,
I saw the kids
Achieve important milestones
Earmarked for passing
At certain ages.

They laughed and walked
Within the timeframe books said
They were supposed to,
Began counting, reading and writing
When they needed to–

There were no Special Ed
Learning plans to axe through
Within a dreadful system–
They were able to sail through
School subjects well enough,
Have been sufficiently
Well liked by their peers
To get invited to birthday parties
Where an expert from
Some rescue foundation
Brings a live hawk and
A bald eagle(!) to show the kids.

Have been healthy and
Good enough at sports
To have physical and social fun
On lacrosse and golf teams–

Upon answering the phone
For a survey once,
I was lucky enough to say,

“No, we have never even been
To the Children’s Hospital.
We’ve never had to go.”

Seeing as the kids
Appear to be growing and
Learning as they should
And will,
I know that
I am wrapped in
Purple velvet royalty
Of fabulous fortune.
My cup and crown of life riches
Overflow with
Immeasurable gratitude.


Meaningless: Making Life More Fun Right Now with a Doable “Bucket” List

Committed to finding
Experiences that keep me
Looking forward to life,
Continuing to search for
Moments to feel good about,
To appreciate being alive
And well enough,
I’ve come upon lists
People make for things
They want to do
In their lifetimes.
They are apparently called
“Bucket” lists.

Oftentimes though, these lists
Contain fabulous adventures
That require a lot of time,
Money, space or something else
That involves waiting and
Lots of planning.

Sure, I too
Have “larger” interests such as
Being able to walk on top of
The Great Wall of China
Sip Kava while in the Fiji Islands,

But today I’ve
I’ve chosen to compile
Some To-do wishes that are
Waaaay more doable within
The next 6-12 months
As handholds to swing to
Between life’s duller moments
Because let’s face it:

Aspects of life can be difficult,
Boring and can feel
Fun can always be
Stuffed in somewhere into
Everyday life if
Conscious effort is made.

But first, I have to know
How I personally define “fun”
Versus what other people
Think is fun.

So, here’s a first attempt for 2017
(Or ever for that matter):

Make a point of printing out
10 strong/emotionally evoking
Pictures from the computer,
Phone and Dropbox
To display them in some way–
Whether they are arranged
With clothespins and
Artfully hanging,
Made into bookmarks
Or other methods,
Get them visually seen
And enjoyed.

Take a professionally shot
Family photo before daughter
Goes off to college–
It’s “OK” to employ some
Run of the mill portrait studio.
Just get it done.

Go to storage and grab photos
To look through and delight in.

Record some of these old photos
By taking pictures of them
And putting them in the Cloud.
[Learn from the kids
Where the best online
Storage place is and
Make an account.)

Do a cereal eating,
Coffee drinking,
Cartoon watching marathon,
With or without the kids!

Make a blessings/gratitude
Box or jar and write down
One observation every day
About how I’m lucky or
What makes me happy
With the date notated.
These will be read later.

Make and roll dough for
Cut out cookies–
Gingerbread sounds promising.

Learn 3 yoga poses that
I find useful and doable
To incorporate in gym workouts.

Continue to celebrate
Morning peace and quiet with
Writing, reflection,
Deep breathing and
By lighting candles.

Spend quality time “just being”
With the kids’ during
Spring break this week
In the Taos, NM at
The Earthship without having
Many expectations about
What is “supposed to” happen.

Draw something
At least once a week–
Can be a quick sketch of something
I’ve never drawn before.
Just draw.

Enter a writing contest.

Read poetry once a week at least.

Relax, sip and eat at
A comfortable and cool coffee shop.
Linger for a good long while
Just absorbing the atmosphere.

Browse the local bookstore
Just because.

Joyfully decorate with lights
Around the house.

Read one book every month.
(The suggestions I’ve seen
To read and finish one book
Every week isn’t
Realistic for me.)

Learn how to make a mixed drink
I’ve never made before.

Attend a Salt cave session

Get a Hot stone massage

Get a new spa treatment
I’ve never tried before
Such as a sugar scrub

Get a spring outfit for myself.

Horseback ride and
Have horses in my life again.

Finish a 1000 piece
Large piece puzzle.

Start a beautiful regular sized
750 piece puzzle and
Finish that too under
A magnifying glass.

Go to the library and
Look through magazines
In pristine quiet
To get inspired.

Seek out new manageable,
Doable and affordable crafts
And DYI projects to do.
Sources can include
Ideas revisited from
Easy craft books I have
From when the kids were younger–
Why not…
Those are very fun projects
And activities that
I’ve forgotten about.

Relearn and play string games.

Have a candlelight dinner.

Make and serve high tea
In the afternoon.

Read, learn about and practice
Hara hachi bu–stopping eating
And drinking when
80 percent full versus
Eating until overly full.
Aim for that practice
4 days a week.

Make ice cream sandwiches
Entirely from my home kitchen.

Plant something easy

Attend the evening Final Friday
In March at the Art Museum.

Move things around in the house
Shelf by shelf
Drawer by drawer
Cabinet by cabinet
To really see what is there–
Reconsider what
I still need,
What makes me happy,
What doesn’t
And what can leave me.


Acceptance: Women, Body Image and Dieting–Day 17 of Getting Dressed


The first 2 months of 2017
My appetite–
Inside a broken body
Held captive by gym-less days
In bed and multiple medications
To treat a wicked lingering
Winter cough and damaged ribs
From a skiing accident–
Crouched down low
To reduce itself to a
Flimsy cardboard cutout
Of its former dimensions.

Valentine’s Day dinner
Starkly highlighted this phenomenon.
Set in a historic building
Bursting with taxidermic prizes
From extensive game hunting
Days of yore,
The dinner was notable
For my fork pushing of
A gorgeous cut of elk
And 2 petite, splayed quail
Prepared expertly with
Succulent execution but which
I left partially uneaten.

I also had only one bite
Of the alligator appetizer
That we tried for the first time.
Slightly rubbery and covered
With too much fried batter,
I couldn’t discern the meat’s taste.
He finished and enjoyed
The plate by himself.

Towards the meal’s end,
I could only sample the
Heaping apple pie wedge
Accompanied with cinnamon rum sauce
And a generous dollop of
Vanilla ice cream.
I wanted to eat more,
I tell you,
But simply could not.

Needless to say,
Weight loss
Accompanied these months.
I wasn’t trying to do that
And am fortunate to be one
Who doesn’t need to drop pounds,
But I did.

While I mostly accept my body
The way it is,
There was something nice
About being lighter,
About living out the
“Hara Hachi Bu” concept
Of eating only until
80 percent full,
While it lasted.

(No, I’m not Japanese.
Korean people love
Healthy appetites and
Encourage hearty consumption
Because it’s a sign
Of good health.
So I don’t come from
That kind of culture at all).

I remember leaving the restaurant
Feeling satisfied
But not overly stuffed–
A novel concept for me
Contrasted by other
Previous dining out experiences
Of polishing off a creme brûlée,
Down to the blow torched
Caramelized crumble
Long past my normal fullness
That resulted in me
Becoming sick and throwing up.

At another point during this time,
I returned to my locker
After a swim to find
All my clothes and shoes missing!
Mayhem ensued as I,
In nothing but boy short underwear
And a sports bra,
Searched the locker room.
Staff and I eventually
Determined someone accidentally
Put her lock on my locker
Instead of her own,
Which was next to mine.

Amid the inconvenience and confusion,
I was oddly a bit pleased too.
There was something just shy
Of awesome in standing around
In the Women’s changing room
Waiting for the lock
To be cut
With the flattest stomach
I’ve had in a long time.

Now, mostly better
And returning to a fuller schedule
Of working and the gym,
Appetite roars up again
With full lion strength.
Weight gain
Accompanied this hunger and
Capacity to eat warm
Cranberry apple muffins
Piled with Greek yogurt and jam,
Peanut sauce stir fry and
To drink big, rounded
Fruit forward red wine
With renewed relish.

While I slowly slide back
Into a workout regimen
Promoting rock hard abs
And buns of steel,
(I can always hope, right?)
I know I’m lucky
To be where I am today
Healthy and getting stronger
After prolonged illness and injury
Even if that means
Gaining weight.

Still, a slight tweaking
Of food and drink choices
Appears necessary at this juncture
As my appetite may have
Rediscovered itself
With a bit too much force.

Familiar with extreme tactics
I’ve seen anorexics employ
To reduce caloric intake
Such as drinking more water
Or gobbling down apples
Or popcorn in quantities
Greater than what seems
Humanely possible and by
Skipping meals entirely,

I consider issues of balance
Of feasibility
Of setting realistic
Achievable goals that are
Small enough to be
Reasonable expectations for me
To actually execute
While remaining healthy,
Strong and happy.

So I have 2 goals only
Which are as follows:

Make a point of filling my plate
With more green and multi-colored
Vegetables for at least 2
Out of my 4 daily meals
Without even reducing
Portion size


Engage in a “detox cleanse”
By temporarily cutting out
Alcohol libations completely.
I’ve never been a huge drinker
But this is an “extra”
I can cut.

I believe acting on these 2 goals
Is already helping
Get me on my way to shedding
A few pounds to feel
Less bloated–
Slow and steady.


Label: Profiles of Driving–Day 16 of Getting Dressed


I’ve never had the privilege.
Something most American adults
Do every day,
Not me.

A key passage into adulthood
Most fully sighted 16 year olds
Take for granted
As their rite, but was
Always a door
With a small anguished window
Through which I saw peers
Passing through
(In style, no less)
But which remained locked
To me due to uncorrectable
Partial vision

Hands tied,
A portion of my adult progression
Remained frozen at 15.
Always a passenger,
I’ve had plenty of time
To glance left
To observe drivers.

First, my Mom.
Tired, herself,
From a long work day
Picking me up from high school.
Resentful, I waited
Hours after school ended,
Long after sunset
Rather than be
A 17 year old Senoir
Riding home on a school bus
Filled with rowdy younger kids
Completely absent
Of a single other person my age.

I was like Sixteen Candles
Sam Baker who said,
“I loathe the bus. . .
There’s got to be a more dignified
Mode of transportation.”

Unlike that character, however,
I didn’t end up netting
The most popular, handsome Senior.
My high school years closed rather

Frustrated and miserable
In my own social status
As as a most unpopular
Invisible square peg,
I watched, annoyed,
As my mom negotiated
Dark highway traffic
Back to our suburban home
A good 40 minutes away.

Why does she utter those
Tiny noises and
Duck her head forward so often?
To see through the side mirrors,
To switch lanes, what?
That seems stupid.
No one else does that!

Of course, it’s those who are
Unhappy inside who are the first
To criticize
And judge other people.

Later, I watched Boyfriend
(Finally, thank goodness)
Tall, aspiring and spectacled
Law student with the world
At his feet,
Graduate to Husband,
Drive hunched forward
Both hands at the top
Of the steering wheel
Taking me to job interviews,
Light hiking trips to rock canyons
And then to hospitals
Where children were born,
Days later, in birthing rooms.

As children grew and
Needed to be driven
To soccer practices, violin lessons,
Nutrition appointments–
The downward spinal curvature
Became more pronounced,
Glasses thicker,
But always still with
Soft arms bent
Resting two hands close together
On top of the wheel

Fleshy profile on my left
Watching the road
Breathing heavily
Never complaining.

Something childlike remained
Within me as he
Was solely responsible for
Doing this major adult task.

A contrast of lifestyles
Grew between us
As his body and soul
Drooped from a demanding profession
He detested and
Wasn’t really cut out to do
While I ran with scissors
And took single bites
Out of chocolates and
Put half-eaten pieces back
Into the box
Trying to uncover my own place.

As things fell apart,
I watched a medium height
Redhead, also bespectacled,
Drive with slender arms bent,
But differently,
As he often gripped
The bottom of the wheel underhanded
And made big arm motions
When turning as though
Driving a rig.

A girlfriend I have
Also grips underhanded.
“More control that way,”
She said
When I asked her why.

In his fire engine red truck,
Sitting on the bench seat
I watched his lean body
Go rigid as he
Labeled drivers “rude fools”
When people cut in front of him
Only to wait, just one car ahead,
At a red light,
Or when he was so often angry
At me and my kids’ deficiencies
Or raging about
The evilness of X.

A sharply outlined jawline
Sloping steeply downward
Into what is referred to
As a “strong” chin
Below a substantial nose
Sized right up against
The brink of “big”.

Still later, I observed another,
Smaller, more compact man
With a totally different
Driving stance.
Sitting up taller in his seat
Hands at two and 11 o’clock
With arms totally straight,
A position I’m unsure
I’ve ever seen before.

“More comfortable and
Better for my posture,” he said
When I asked why.

This one
The most striking profile
More so than the full frontal view
So deeply lined beyond recognition
With intense expression
Has been something
I’ll sneak look at often
Just because I delight
In an inexplicably
Handsome hairline traveling,
With ageless appeal and precision,
Down across the right temple
Only to hill up cleanly
Over a slightly fuzzy ear
Before heading back down
Towards the occipital bone.


I’ll marvel at the
Maturity of jaw
Ending in almost a pointed chin.
If I were penning a
Caricature profile,
The chin would pull upwards
To greet a nose pointing southwards
In a kind of wizened warlock
High five.

First, in a beat up
Matte finish family sedan
And now in what is almost
A Miami pimp car
Gleaming, decked out with
High shiny finish and tinted windows,
All sorts of conversations transpire.
Soft and humorous,
Dicey but measured.

This is about romantic survival.
A non driving woman
Deeply attracted to males
Makes sure to bring one
On board into her life
While memorizing his
“Profile on the pillow.”


Luck: The “Sort of”s in Life–Day 15 of Getting Dressed


Child of immigrants
Some of the most industrious
People on the planet
I’m not supposed to
Believe in luck.

“You create your own luck,”
Parents have always said
And have lived accordingly.

Still, this morning
I caught a quietly fabulous
Sunrise peaking up over the lake
While walking through the park
On route to my morning swim.

Now, I know my inability
To completely process color
Makes for a stunted
Visual appreciation of
The netted moment.

Even so, oftentimes
I still recognize gorgeous splashes
Of color and texture
When they present,
Looming large, magnanimous.

And yes, someone can be
Partially color-blind.
That is rare, I understand,
But that is me.

“There is no such thing
As being ‘sort of’ color blind.
Either you are or you aren’t–
Kind of like being
‘Sort of’ pregnant.”

Both statements above
Are untrue and are based on
Common, knee jerk
Thoughtlessness, at best.
Unfortunately, I know that
Both “halfsie” conditions
Can exist.

Tissue matter that formed
The makings of a fetus
As well as the altered,
Emerging hormones
Trickling down and out–
That limbo 8 week juncture
Where unexpected rainbow horizons
Became visible but then
Slowly cloud over with
The crushing reality of
Every blood clot,
Qualifies as being
‘Sort of’ pregnant.

The instances where
Certain bright colors
Jump out and move you
So that somehow you
Have a good idea about
What color they represent
(Whereas many other times
This knowledge remains hidden)
Also qualify as ‘sort of’
Being able to see color.

This morning I knew
The Cumulous suggestions
Dabbed onto still water
In dawn’s light was
A beautiful sight to behold
Confirmed by the fact
That someone else
Also stopped to admire
And take pictures.

And the vision I do have
Made me lucky today.


Immerse: How Crashing Into a Person Can Happen Unexpectedly–Day-14 Getting Dressed


We desire to learn
And grow in life,
Not be held back by
Any aspect of our pasts.

But what if your past self
Was so lithe in
The moment’s immersion,
In the movement of
A quivering hand,
An inner thigh caress
Against your own leg

The seizing of
Gendered beginnings,
Lengthy middles and
Peaked endings that
Gave warmness in bleaker weather?
Always upfront,
You offered no promises
Or emotional commitment
Just some time together
Before moving on,
A bright future and
A great smile.

The cherry picker that you were
Left people overexposed, freezing
While holding a sack of pits,
Skins and a whole lot of emptiness.

What if later
Your back became more bowed
Weighed down by life’s rings of
Sorrow, joy and worry
But with tree trunk richness
Gained from earning layers
Of meaning that leave you lined,
More dog eared and
A little limp at times?

What if now, a silver prince,
Your personality remains strong
Runs deep
But is more worn down
With moth holes eating away
Into fabriced history?
A medicated tentativeness
Pausing play
Picking up
“Um”s and “Uh”s
In the recordings
That leave you a bit faded
Washed out, relatively speaking,
And superbly kind?

What if nothing.
That’s the timing finesse
Of life’s encounters.
You cannot have
The evolved considerations,
The infinite lavender
Appreciativeness of now
Without the sore heart aches,
The wrinkled heavy sadness
That over takes certain days
Darkening life’s patina.

You didn’t get to eat
From the table populated with
Outstanding commitment to
Experience life fully
Without also sampling
A spicy temper and
Flawed ideas about
Using multiple women’s bodies
For your own
Researched enjoyments.

That is the way of things.
The wish I have
To meet you so much earlier
Remains as potent of a brew
As pointless as the
Trajectory is

Not just due to the impossibility of
Going back in time
But also for the fact that
There’s a good chance
We wouldn’t have connected then

That we would have likely
Gone on to forge the
Different paths we took anyway,

To have the very children,
Exactly delightful and beautiful
As they are,
That we did.

But I still wish for the impossible
Because I cannot help
But believe
I could have “saved” you
From making some of your
Troubled choices that
Contributed to the perfect life’s
Destruction anyway

That I understand
How to navigate your needs,
Moods and insecurities
So that utter devastation and
Desecration might have been avoided

And that maybe you
Might have “saved” me too
From some of anguish that
Cut my own heart and
Made me want to leave this world
Early at times
By reaching my
Ragged dehydrated spots.

Who knows why
I get stuck here
In this tunnel of thoughts
Swirling in the wind of


Pattern: Binging on Food to Feel

Crumbs and empty cupcake liners
Lie crumpled on my plate.
I’ve been behaving badly
By overeating–

Something I’ve successfully
Managed to escape
With my new focus on
Slowing my life down which
Includes chewing and tasting
My food more thoroughly–
Until now…

So as things stand,
Someone needs to please
Save me from grocery store
Cupcake hell!

Bought the night before
In an exhausted after work state
With another who loves to
Humor my sweet tooth

“Because life is too short not
To enjoy good tasting food,”
There was such an
Exhilarating plentitude.

Still, was opting
For the dozen box cupcakes
Because the price was so much
Of a better deal
Compared to the single
Marble cake slice
Such a good idea
For the likes of me?

Me, who is so easily seduced
By icy swirls of frosting
Climaxing up into
Teasing apexes that
It’s hard to stop eating
Once I start?

Emerging straight from
Commercial freezers,
The frosting is harder,
Almost solid blocks of super
Sweetness that excite me
As I bite down into that part
While leaving most of the cake.

This binge gives me
A flash flood high that only
Concentrated sugar can
And turns me into some kind of
Unstoppable sugar predator.
The cake part still gets eaten,
Grudgingly, because I mean
What are you going to do
With the rest anyway?

Once, during another life phase,
I must confess,
I did eat only the frosting
Off the tops of at least
A half dozen cupcakes,
In one sitting,
And threw away
The bottom cake portions,
In public.


Because I possessed a pattern
Of eating beyond fullness.
This desire to comfort myself
With delicious tastes
Expressed itself
Particularly strongly
With desserts.

So while everyone else
Was intensely emotionally
Absorbed with watching
Some amazing football maneuver
Playing on TV,
I moved to the table of desserts
Leftover from a poorly attended
Promotion to reward
Certain credit card holders
We had just finished.
There were cookies
But I could resist those.

I started with the intention
To eat just one cupcake,
The whole thing of course,
And be done.
But once I tasted
The pretty white frosting,
Something took hold of me
As though the cream cheese richness
Was the best thing I’d ever eaten
And as if my life depended on
Eating as much of that
As possible,
Nothing else.

So there I stood
Unnoticed, quietly and quickly
Devouring one frosting mound
After another off of the
Red velvet beauties
Until my stomach might burst and
The shame of what I had just done
Overtook me.

“I’m thinking those cupcakes
Are for everybody,
Not just for you,”
A voice finally said in my head
As I stopped myself
From reaching
For yet another one.

Then later that same winter
I had one other similar,
Notable binge while working
A well appointed corporate
Launch party in a fancy box
High up in our city’s
Football team’s stadium

That involved chocolate fountain
Rice Krispy treat and
Pound cake dipping
As well as gorging on
Multiple mini shot glass,
Liqueur soaked cakes
Expertly layered in espresso and
Vanilla cream at the back
Of the room

While a drawing for
High end prizes
Directed guests’ attention
Entirely to the front.

That night, I have to say,
There were more than enough
Desserts leftover just sitting out
So I wasn’t harming anyone
Except myself.

I’ve since decided that
Being that wired up
On sugar extremities
Actually feels physically bad
About 30 minutes later
As a kind of crash
Blows me over leaving me restless,
Feeling guilty and sometimes
Gives me stomach cramps.

Since then, there have been
Way fewer binges like those
And to that degree,
Though smaller episodes
Like today still occur
Because, well, I’m human.


Murmuration: An Introvert’s Survival Guide

My ability to chat up
Random strangers
Waiting in an inchworm line
Amazes me.
Mostly drawn inwards
Powered by nervy life force
To move, to contemplate and
Now to bow down to slow breaths,

I’m fine mostly
Looking in through the edge of
Mainstream society’s window
To wave hello
Before turning back to
Bending over my own
Internal needlepoint designs.

Coming to a crowded
NHL parking lot event,
Outside, during winter
Before heading inside to
An equally chilly, loud
And enormously cavernous venue
To watch team sports

Is for other folks
Busy nestled in their
Full time, benefited office jobs,
Orangetheory and boot camp classes
Kid shuttling to school and
Their many extracurriculars
Before dinner at the
Cheesecake Factory and
In between handholds of
Caribbean vacations.

A murmuration
A dance
A suspended reality that
I’ll pause to marvel at
But remain separate from.

Even so, when literally in front of
Shivering folks Of all ages
Waiting with baffling patience
To peek into a
Traveling hockey museum,

I find I can turn some kind of
Showmanship switch “on”
To chat, distract and
Lightly entertain those
I’ve never seen before
In my entire life and will likely
Never encounter again.

To seek and establish connection,
However fleeting
With flocks of starlings
Mid flight
Moving to a different beat.

As line keeper,
Head counter and
Admittance regulator,
I learned and
Was reminded that

Girls play hockey
Almost as much as boys now
That front row tickets to
Even a game losing hockey team
Still cost $300 apiece
That people are willing to wait
Over an hour in multiple lines
For a few seconds of
Sports related pleasure, be it
Taking a picture with the Stanley Cup,
Getting a player autograph or
Gaining entrance into a high end
Trailer memorabilia museum

That people will drive 3 hours
To enjoy things other
Than football
That the hockey fan base
Away from frozen laked
Wind chilled states
Can still be fervent

That people like to be
Made socially much of
And be listened to,

That even a person so often considered
An “oddball” by not only others
But by her own self,
Can be “normal” and
Inside the world sometimes.


Abstract: Desire Reconfigured

Sometimes I want you to feel like
You want to kill me.

Momentary reaching down and in
To rip my heart
Right out of my chest
And hold the beating
Pumping organ in your hand
To eat of it
To sing and delight in
A most eloquent blood bath
A flash afire
Blinding bright
Burning off.

This, for me only
During afternoon haze.
A masculine override
Seeping up and outward.
A fermented secret unrolled
Only through trust.

Post spring rainfall reconsidered.
Wet leaves flat against
City pavement
Form the structure of
Renegade desire bleeding amok
Running fleeting zig zags
Through straight lines
And previously known pathways.

Train wrecked abstraction
Pulsing, pushing onward
Racing breakneck through
Waterfalled rivers eternally
Rushing into chaos.

A new prong of adult play
Of sidelined expression
Supressed into oblivion
Years of conditioning
Blocking and tamping down
What surfaces, breathes now.
Angling towards definition
An unmasking of sorts.

This is me and you