My Favorite Holiday Is You

There is a hint of you in every poem of mine

the faintest honey peach wine still on my tongue from each line.

It was never my intent to put you there, you show up uninvited.

Neither of us had planned to stick around but winter has gone

And come again and I’m still here sipping on you tucked into desire’s cozy fire.

 

I’ve had fire-cracking love, exploding bright in the navy, July sky

but it died before even touching my grassland heart.

And I had love that colored my cheeks like Santa’s hat during Christmas time

but the twinkling lights fell off my hopeful house before the first snowfall.

You stick in my mind like strawberry pink Laffy Taffy clings to my teeth.

No flashy lights or extravagate shows with roaring crowds,

just a constant you. Quiet but caring solely for me.

 

We’re each a little more complicated than planned.

Relationships tend to get messier

than a kid’s chocolate covered face on Halloween

Emotions don’t always speak in reasonable logic.

But the sweet, gooey feelings are said

to always be worth the stomach aches.

I’d love to spend another Halloween with you;

what about you?

 

 

-December 2015

Photo Credit

Back When

But the light hazes in this boundless bedroom

and all I see is clingy, itchy ivy

entrapping my wrist like regret imprisons my thoughts.

I can’t take back this one night but still

I pinch my eyes closed again

back to the darkness.

 

Back when a dark haired man seemed

like a good idea. Back when

I felt brave and confident

to go up to a man and take

what I desired.

Dreams

When I was young I dreamed of reaching the moon

and I dreamed of saving the world.

I dreamed of becoming the best me I could be

but chasing dreams is harder than it seems

because disappointment and doubt appear to be the only things in route.

So I hide in the shadows and pray that my true self never shows

because the more I care, the more I have to lose

and opening up my heart means allowing it to bruise.

But I’m strong and I’ll survive

and only love can keep the heart alive.

 

-April 2012

 

No One Cries for the Sinners (An Abecedarian)

Arizona is the place for a funeral, if there ever could be such a place

because believe me when I say, Life

can’t take root in dry soil. No Botanist or Investigator

dares to try and stop her. She is contacted by the weak, the helpless, the hopeless,

each in dying need of her services. I think of her often today, while at my husband’s

funeral. She was careful; killing him slower than the fading pale

green bruises on my God- given body. If I was religious, any God of mine would be in

Hell right along with the criminals and devils she sends there. Hotter there than the

injected poison that inflames their bodies. Hotter than Arizona. Is it

Justice for the lives these men have already stolen? Depends on whom you ask.

 

Killers like Penelope are hard to find unless they want to be found. She never

lets people in too close, only the wicked

moths, like my abusive drunk husband, deserving of her fiery temper. She collects

newspaper clippings like coin collectors treasure Civil War nickels.

Obituaries like trophies line her walls. It was my life or his. I choose mine.

Proudly, I’d do it again. My body wasn’t his property to use or abuse as he wished.

 

Queen of murder, Penelope alone carries the weight of death and demons

rotting inside her. She straddles a line between serial killer and

superhero. Or are they just different sides of the same coin? I could not be more

thankful that she slayed the dragon that I couldn’t save my kids from. It’s not easily

understood, I know. Only those who survived a certain kind of darkness will.

 

Vigilantes like Penelope are clever, venomous, calculating, beautiful,

worst of all, deadly. A cold- blooded killer living in the dry grass,

xeric climate. A climate like fucking Arizona.

You won’t find life taking root, no tears to water its growth. It’s dead space, ground

zero for the ghosts and hellish creatures like Penelope and the sinners she kills.

 

-November 2015

 

Photo Credit

Ocean Blues and You

I have responsibilities and chores to do

but my mind keeps bringing me back to you

like the ocean always returning to the shore.

You come over and lie in my bed,

vulnerable only when you choose.

Experience has taught you, you cannot be kept safe

under anyone’s care but your own.

You leave before the Midnight Moon or I can tuck you in.

 

I have a tendency to run from arms that are stretched open

for me. A tendency to think when people take

an interest in me, they only mean to pry me open with an oyster knife and leave

me empty. Your past has taught you that anyone can leave if they want to try.

So you don’t pry and you don’t ask why, but you always stay

 

Yet still, we keep each other at an oar’s length distance,

afraid that our pasts will crash against our lifeboats once more.

Topaz worries and indigo insecurities make me heavy and drag me down to drown.

Sand isn’t stable ground to rely on, but even concrete can crack.

We all have flaws and if you think too long, all you will notice is what we lack.

I don’t know much, but I know I want to go swimming with you.

 

-November 2015