good enough...

“You have a certain laugh when you are uncomfortable, when you are uneasy, when you are nervous, anxious, feeling vulnerable and trying not to let it show."

A beloved let me cry when my lover left, he tells me this to explain why he knows I am not all right, as I have tried to convince myself that I am…that I will be…

As I offer up the lie to him, like offerings to my Gods, 

like blackberries in a bowl on the breakfast table…

to let him out of this spiral before I panic and pull him under with me, 

like a drowning man grasping at anything to stay above water…

I have a tell…gotta fix that…

My brain begins the litany…

"Useless…”

“No good to anyone…”

The realization that no one has ever fallen in love with me…ever…

“Of course they didn’t...how could they?”

“What is wrong with me?”

“What is right…?”

The shadows smell blood in the water…too late now…

“Have I done anything right?...ever?”

“Yes, twice…”

“Is that enough?”

“maybe…”

Can I remember that I am good enough?

Can I convince myself that this feeling is simply my heart expanding, learning, growing,

increasing its capacity…?

maybe…

Can I breathe? Can I breathe deeper, slower?…

Can I remember that love is a gift I am capable of?

That I am capable?

That I am good enough?

That I can do this?

That I am strong?

That I am whole?

That it will be all right?

That this will pass?

That I will survive this?

That this is necessary?

“maybe…”

I still cannot remember anyone ever falling in love with me, and that is all right…

because I can remember falling in love...and that is good enough.

Requium for our cat

Spirits of the other realm

Guide our most familiar friend

When his spirit shall return

May he find us once again

Bind us here to one another

Bind our sorrow and our grief

Bind us with our love together

Make our time of mourning brief

Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again

Lord and Lady Blessed be

To our most familiar friend.

magic key

Driving south in the heat, talking to a bearded Hitch-Hiker, I flash on the Lake.

The way we used to fish with balls of white-bread on the ends of our lines.

Quiet on a Sunday morning, while mass was being held in the chapel across the street.

I remember the way our soda bottles would collect sand on the outside,

and some always ended up in my mouth,

mingling with the Coke or Root-beer or Orange Crush.

When we took the bottles back we’d get three pennies,

spent on bubble-gum.

Those bottles needed to be opened with a magic key.

Odyssey

On a bright sunny afternoon at the river

four anonymous comrades join together in love and affirmation

remembering others far away

 making a daring odyssey

into the sunlight and the shadows of the trees

following paths that lead to the fairy kingdom

of spiral flight among vines whose connection is skyward

never touching the reality of earth.

A black and white spotted infant touched for an instant

opens the portal into the realm

where small purple stars have spiral green tails

and earth-brown children hang from thin branches

plucking purple berries and tasting their sweet nectar for a moment

only to grasp the next immediately.

The legend of an Indian Brave who lived centuries ago

awakens the sleeping children

and they venture forth to conquer the rushing water

defying the treacherous rocks

and the laws of gravity and distance, space and time

which hold no rule in this universe

of wet feet and sun-shined faces.

Once the barrier has been crossed

the children sleep once again.

Sleeping Babes

on a saturday in april in half-light

a motel room in the afternoon with the curtains drawn

my friends sleep

in sheer exhaustion

the sleep of wine

and the extremities of lives lived too brightly.

I read poetry

and paint my nails red

drink cold coffee

smoke too many cigarettes

paint my toe-nails too

and go back to playing solitare.

I watch their silent forms

and fight the urge to touch them

“for fear of waking them “ I tell myself.

Two children in their beds at night

when mother opens the door

to see the faces of her babes once more

before retiring to her own sleep.

Insomnia with a Friend

Love songs then love-gone-wrong songs then road songs and wine,

laughter and candlelight, poetry and chess,

bad jokes then black-jack, more wine then sleep.

We have said nothing,

I dream of waking

and wake and cannot sleep.