Forty-Something Years in Ninaland


Untitled Unrelated Poems


On the white swing on the porch

there was a firefly in your hair

And a daisy in my lap

As I swang on the swing

your roommate made with his own hands

And the beer bottle

you drank with your own lips

with the same tongue you

met my tongue with

My heart hurts for your hands

I want them in the strings of my hair.


While I watch you in the evening sun

as you clean the last

piece of dust

off the mirror on my dashboard

and I want to cry until you dance

How simple life was when

you told me you wanted to learn

how to dance with me.


We walked together in the rain

and my eyelashes would flutter

so would my heart as you sang

under your breath the songs

Of our youth and we are still young.


Which one of us holds the hand

of the other first

we don’t count such small

gestures and for all appearances

we seem together…


No one knows, I am leaving you.

After the day you promise to care

about the way you say friend

you love my lashes and you said

the way my wavy hair covered

my left eye, you said it took your

breath away. You took my life away

so I said goodbye.


I lie here now twenty years later.

your screaming wife on the phone

I heard about the crazy divorce

kids crying and lawyers

I thought I might call you then


and tell you I’m lonely

not for you, but for your songs

and the dances you promised

me you would dance in my room.


i’m lying between cold sheets

the window is cracked open

and after all these years I remember

the firefly that almost went in your ear

and the broken wooden swing

a splinter in my finger


and the taste of beer

on my lips.

How would we know

How would we know

about life’s small adventures

in all the years it rained after

and all the years it will rain still


I will always flutter my wet lashes,

And think of your rough hands

on the steering wheel

driving me to my death.






You said you are a seer and I’m the one you see

and I called your bluff about the universe

while we ran through the rose bushes,

with blood on our hands

from thorns we thought would be

like whiskey in a bottle that is broken

giving us sweet yesterdays

we thought the blooming of our perennials

would keep all the people in today

There is no tomorrow, you promised

you saw, there is no way to walk away from this day.






I saw you in the fog

you looked like a blur

and I saw your hands move up and down

and I wanted to kiss the nose

I could not see, in depths of the mist.

We are, we are, we are invisible

in this morning breeze

for once I don’t exist except as a

Footprint in the dirt.

stand next to me

See my red toes as I

want to be noticed

even when the clouds

Slip through us.






Mama please don’t fret

this isn’t going to last

I’m only lying to you now

because my eyes are tired

and my foot makes no sense

when it falls out of my shoe.


Daddy you know how much

life costs, you know all the

wicked tastes of empty boxes

that you gave to the man

on the street who handed you

a towel, a wet towel.


Don’t thank me for noticing

your small intimate memories

your perfect shoes, mama you wear

them with the posture of a goddess.


Dad you gave the shirt

on you back to the man

who said you were a genie

in a bottle of wine.


Standing in back of people

spitting in your face

your turban they called a towel

and you still prayed for their



You two are the only love

I’ve seen last, I’ve seen through

I’ve seen the wicked nature

of life in your home

you showed me that love is a gold shoe and blue towel

With no one’s name engraved on it.


How can I, how can I, thank you for

your humanity.






I don’t want to be that kind of woman

who makes you stay up all night

to harp about things that happened

thirty years ago, or thirty seconds.


I just want to shout at you

for not noticing my need for a hug

or the smell of the garbage you didn’t take to the curb.

But instead you swept up my

hair and kissed my neck.


I asked you to wash my hair.

there was a madness in your eyes

yesterday. You took water

and splashed it in my face

as if, as if, we are water and hair

and a small dollop of strawberry shampoo

spilling out of your hands.

This is all we are.



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 September 3rd, 2016  
 1 Comment

One Response to Untitled Unrelated Poems

  1. Your poetic language is liquid, exquisite. 🙂

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