The Girl Holding the Cake
I don’t remember the girl holding the cake.
I wasn’t there that day.
I had gone somewhere else to spend my sorrow.
Her vapid smile may have fooled the others,
but she was no match for what awaited
in the place beyond the photo.
Eighteen years old,
guileless eyes fixed on death,
she clutches her cake
not to break
into crumbs.
I can’t remember that girl.
They tell me she was me.
Daylight Savings
I never understood the need to change the clock;
I’d be grumpy, cranky,
bereft of my lost hour.
And then twenty years later,
one unexpected night,
you landed back in my bed
and showed me
that time,
like love,
is what we make of it.
Tattoo
Like a cat on sand
I rest in you.
Limbs loose,
my imprint safe,
your hand indelible in mine.
The Rhetoric of a Silent Piano
I sold your apartment and bought a silent piano.
No one understood why.
It seemed like an oxymoron,
but I thought of it more
as a metaphor.
Standing in the living room,
shiny and black.
An impressive pedigree,
with a price tag to match.
Eighty-eight keys play to my fantasies,
indulge my fears, unlock my needs.
The need to be heard
while not making a sound.
The need to say what I mean
and not have it pass my lips.
The need for someone to understand
as if peeking through my heart’s keyhole.
The need to be loved
without screaming it.
Perhaps it is an oxymoron, after all.
Holiday
Each day’s energy a feast in itself,
holy as you, holy as me.
Red Clover (Trifolium pratense)
Before I knew death,
you were there.
Three-leafed velvet
under my feet,
fragrant,
catching my falls,
soaking up tears.
Now,
when death is all I know,
I sow you
to show you
my love.