Fare - thee - well

Until we meet again!

Thank you everyone for the kind and insightful feedback. Will use to move forward with the poems. Most importantly for me, in the last stage of the month, made it back into a poetry writing groove. Have scribbled notes from the middle of the night to whip into some kind of shape - will miss having this forum to post the results in, and miss seeing your thought-provoking words.

All the best to each of you beautiful writers!

And thank you Joan for hosting!

xox

Dating Daddies

It turns out, at my age,
all the guys available for me to date
already have kids.

This hadn't factored in my fantasies
of carefree post-divorce dating life.
Nothing has prepared me
to make small talk about night terrors
play dates, soccer practice.

And god knows how the kids
will react to me if
I ever Get to That Point
with any of the dating daddies.

But we're not there yet,
not by a long shot -
wouldn't want to traumatize the tykes
If We Don't Work Out,
and no need to have them
carrying stories home to mommy
about daddy's new friend.

I'm ok with it, really,
don't need any extra pressure
to perform in these early tenuous stages.

But it means
scheduling the dads on
alternate weekends,
when they don't Have the Kid.
I swear,
anyone new will have
to cycle in, get the ex-wives
to work together on this.

Everyone says,
How Lucky I Am
to not have a kid of my own
to schedule in.

I do know for sure
I don't ever want to be
an Evil Stepmother.
But secretly I think,
I could be a Nice one,
an understanding one.
One who doesn't try
to take their father away,
one who doesn't
talk darkly to mirrors
or offer beautiful poison apples.

Protection

He thinks he’s the Big Bad Wolf

because he’s in finance

and I’m a sweet tree hugger

one foot shorter and eight years younger.

He’s held back,

tried to convince me he’s too bad for me --

he still smokes though he’s trying to give it up,

our politics are too different,

though he "respects my passion."

We’ve gone three dates

without his going for more than a kiss

or a brief, random fondle of a breast.

I hadn’t known such gentle men still existed,

find it sweet that he wants to protect me

from himself.

But tonight I’m determined to convince him

I won’t melt, won’t shatter.

I skip to his house with my basket of bread,

take off my red riding helmet.

What a big meal you’ve made me!

What a big couch you have!

What a big bed you have!

He does have teeth, I discover,

And dark eyes and warm mouth

And long fingers that stroke oh so gently

And yes, he wants what I have,

he wants to eat me alive,

keep a part of me inside him.

Driving home through the woods,

he blows smoke out the window,

turns up the rock music in his truck.

Feeling like I’m back in high school

I ask if he had a letter jacket.

Yes, he says, he was the quarterback.

I smile -- I’ve slept with the quarterback.

I’ve slept with the Big Sweet Wolf.

I will protect him from the lumberjack,

I will protect him from myself.

Off the wall

If I let go of this wall,

there will be no turning back.

He is waiting for me

in the middle of the room.

Patient, but insistent.

He could wait there all night,

but he knows he won’t have to.

He knows eventually I will

lift my fingers from this wall

that has no hand grips

anyway, that would eventually

become just one more thing 

to slide down.

So I look him in the eyes

though it’s too dark to see.

I have faith, I trust, I push off,

take that first step.

Strong arms reach out to catch me

as I let go.

R.I.P.

You froze,

Left me mid-thought, mid-email, mid-morning.

After months of false alarms,
this time I could not rouse you 
from perpetual sleep.

But how can I resent you?

You gave me a good life.

In six years, we went to film school,

shot a TV show and three features.

Moved together through six apartments

in three cities.

Survived a bottle of beer on the keyboard

and a couple of broken hearts.

Your screen saw

draft after draft of screenplays

love letters

hate letters

secret emails

mass mailings

bad poetry

resumes

contracts

requests for money

to fund art and life

erotica

divorce paperwork

and the miracle

of the chance to 

talk with blurred faces

of friends

across miles

and continents.

Sleep well, trusted confidant.
May you dream of
lighter fingers on your keys,
clearer words on your screen,
and a world where
you fly along 
with no case to 
hold you in
the dark.

Lost Causes

I'm a sucker for lost causes.
For boyfriends that can never be,
for candidates that are unelectable,
for family relationships that can never be healed.

I'm a sucker for the underdog,
the hopeless case,
the wounded outmatched welterweight against the ropes,
the guy in the wrong place at the wrong time
the prisoner facing the firing squad,
even if he's guilty as hell.

I'll bet on the long-shot,
Place my chips on zero,
Give money to homeless guys,
even the ones wearing new shoes.

I want the best for everyone,
even those who have done me harm,
even those who will never know
what harm they have done.

===

Sorry I have been so negligent with my posting. May has become what September was in my college days - a month of changes!

Surviving Mother's Day

She stands in the drug store,
stares at the dwindling stock
of Mother's Day cards.

People of all ages and colors
jostle her as they
sort through the slim pickings,
having left it so late.

She grabs one at random.
"Thank you for all you've given me..."
Back onto the shelf, try again:
"You were always there for me..."

She discards it with a shudder,
remembers now why she has waited
so long to take part in this annual rite.
Steps back out of the crush,
watches the others as they nod,
smile, make their selections.

Realizes with a short sharp smack
to the heart
that for some people these words
carry real meaning.
She begins to sweat, sway,
pushes her way back out to the street.

Even out in the sunlight she shivers,
fearing the wrath of a card unsent,
fearing more what will happen if
she signs her name to one more lie.

What the scale knows

Every year it gets harder

to lose weight.

Where once her body let pounds fall 

like leaves from a tree, 

like burdensome bundles 

from tired arms on arriving home,

now her skin clings to each oily cell, 

anxious, defensive, traumatized 

from the endless barrage of changes

that have made up this life.

Having just barely survived one too many fights 

where she was outweighted,

the body refuses to be at disadvantage again.

As if holding this weight

is the only way to preserve who she is, 

keep some part of her intact,

create a region of stability, 

begin her secret campaign to ensure 

nothing else will ever be lost again.

13 Things I learned in the last year

1 How long I can go without doing dishes 
2 How to discreetly wipe tears
      from the floor of a bathroom stall 
3 A made bed can feel like comfort at the end of the day
4 Love shouldn't feel like chains
5 How long it takes pain to fade
     and that some of it never will
6 Just what FWB means, and why it's so handy
7 That No Strings Attached can still get tangled
8 How to create a family of right now 
9 Judgment is something we bring on ourselves  
10 You really don't know who your friends are until you're gone
11 Guilt and recovery are incompatible 
12 More than ever, that God equals love
13 How to ask for help
        even when I still don't want to

Hello/Poem 1

Hooray, hooray, the First of May! Has it really been 8 years? Happy to be here, hoping to post a few poems a week, and looking so much forward to reading everyone else's posts! Transitioning between jobs, and still, ever, transitioning in general, so will be good to have this creative magnet calling to me...

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Misterious

Even in the city

there are mysteries

Fog over the lake this morning

makes it seem more than ever

like there is no other side,

that this is all there is:

my building,

the one next door,

a row of trees,

green branches

that blur at the edges,

then infinite pale blue space

cut with vague shapes

of what is yet to be revealed.