she is on the other side of the window
[from a coffee love letter - poetry] close she is beautiful she is feeling older she should be loved i could tell her, touch her, be a tonic to tiredness to ennui to feeling less i could ask her i could bring her love
i breathe nearby she would not understand still i watch her through the glass and I want
i want
i am in love with loving her i am in love with this feeling i guess i am in love
i know
she is an object of affection she is beautiful she is my imagination of the lazy kisses of a gray day like this day where we do nothing but kiss and cuddle until we must get up to find food
i know
she isn't the one i'm looking for i don't know that but I know she is beautiful and that is enough
that is enough for now
4-23-13
little bird
[from a coffee love letter – poetry]
little bird i would do nothing to hurt you underestimating my strength pausing to let you pass opening hand
4-23-13
she is silenced in my back pocket
[from The Black Pages – poetry]
she means nothing
now
she has taken everything
and given me nothing
except my silence
and wings and self
so i fly now without
a copilot
but i do still fly
and she is silenced in my back pocket
because I cannot stand her
beauty and sadness
and her voice
provides images and reflections
of loss
and new silences
depths i’ve never explored
near death
crashes
like sunken treasures
of my soul
she is silenced in my back pocket
as she has chosen
someone else’s hand
but she is always
she is forever
she means nothing
in little details
of who i am yet to become
what will fill the space
left from her leaving
i am throwing things out now
recycling books, memories, hurts
i am looking for perfection
again
this time
she gave me the heir
and the dowry
and each drop of blood
is mixed with her
and she will never leave
she is already gone
a call i can no longer take
a request
i am not ready to entertain
her
again
just this moment
she can be silenced
just for this moment
i return to peace
her buzzing
stops and dings
a siren
reminder
request
emergency that can wait
january 2013
perhaps you were a cat from another country
[from The Black Pages – poetry]
listen to this poem (mp3 file)
the cat’s tail rubbing across my leg as he heads back into the new house
somewhere I picked that habit up myself, stroke, pat, brush, touch
perhaps you were a cat from another country, where casual touch led to violence
maybe it was fear, or even an unknowing of yourself and the things that made you happy
touching is reconnecting
a happy touch is fulfilling in itself
oh, my cat buries his entire body in my chest, like a small writhing fur coat
and i too have the capacity for emersion and merging, we know it when we feel it
perhaps you had been hurt before, and maybe even I did things that closed you more
now the cat and I exchange love, a cat you’ll never know
thanks for the kids, you’re a proud mom, and you are a great mom
and my incessant need for connection will be met elsewhere
The Off Parent
4-30-11
permalink: https://theoffparent.com/cat-from-another-country/
