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Marie-bee-1588183
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There is the fresh bundle of stationery,
an impulse buy
in the thick of saudade,
weeks or maybe
months ago


I'll write it all down,
I told myself that day,
these thoughts that linger always
just beneath the surface
easy to push down and smother when I feel them bubbling up
but once in a while, they sneak past when I'm not strong enough
and suddenly I'm swimming in them
and grief overtakes me,
sometimes hours
sometimes days,
sometimes weeks,


until finally I wrangle it in,
push it back down below
and once again I'm floating on top,
in control
until the next time.


I'll mail it to your mother's house
I told myself that day,
yet there it sits
hidden under the scarf
from my sister,
on the top shelf of my closet


sheets of paper
unopen,
never sent.



poem a day/open 


 


 

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Seven,
(nearly eight),


the number
of Julys gone by
since that fateful one
when I drove north,
just for a few days,
I need to clear my head


life as we knew it
merely a red dot on the map,
the gap between us
growing steady with
each passing song


red, a warning sign I see now
but somehow missed then
as it screamed over Neighborhood #1,
over too many lit and extinguished cigarettes,
turn around now,
don't do it


But I missed that warning,
though another came in traffic,
wading past that flipped truck,
the universe screaming loudly
now's your chance, go
back


Instead my foot on the gas
happy to hit the limit again,
eyes watchful for the
passing highway signs
that led to my blunder


closing the gap with
dark country road and peninsula waters,
steeped in summer air, oblivious of the
poor judgement ahead,
waiting with devilish delight
to swallow me
whole.



poem a day/damage

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In inky black pools
under howling eaves
you sit
steadfast and stoic
where I left you,


feet careful to
tiptoe past with
graveyard respect,
wary of each creaky
floorboard


never to wake you,
not to be tempted


to hold the artifacts
of an earthquake love
in these careless hands,
fearful they will
crumble like bones
turned to dust,
like ancient history.



poem a day/ancient

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childhood apple tree
my perch just within arms reach
delicious secret



Poem a day/hiding places

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I swear I saw you
at the park today,
past the swings that
meant so much


I nearly missed you,
just inside the frame
where the edges melt into
pools of color
against golden setting
light


a hazy silhouette
parallel to the oak –
it was your curls
mussed by the
breeze that gave you away
(for I know those curls by heart,
the way they tumble.)


but with eyes raised
and the world pulled into focus,
the oak stood alone
as ever,
the golden hour
fading,
the blur of you,
gone.



poem a day/blur

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This was not
the way I thought
it would be,
lives running parallel,
intersecting for coffee
every few years,
my eyes always
avoiding that
ring,
a knife
thrust deeper
still, knowing my
fault, my fall
leaving us
both here
with gaping
holes and
half drunk
mugs of
coffee.


 


poem a day/ surprise


 

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