Category Archives: Writing

Mind Reader

Where are you
you absent one
who knows
that now is when
I need something
large and warm
to crawl into
something like
an old quilt
with lots of color
and comfort
something marsupial
with a heartbeat
something easy
to get out of
when I’m weak
with uncertainty
and no sense
of direction
where are you
when I am lost
in dysfunction
no one can see—
where is the question
I need you to ask:
Are you okay?
And I won’t even
need to say no.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
8-15-17

“Woman with Red Umbrella” By T.C. Steele

How it Ends

The photo of you
sitting in a field
of wildflowers
made you seem accessible—
and the picture
of your body
halfway into Mosquito Lake
seemed to indicate
you lived for adventure—
but the joy in your eyes
as you stood on Mt. Rainier
was in fact nontransferable
to life down below
where love waited its turn
for you to find it
as beautiful a destination
as the mangroves
in Costa Rica and now
the Redwoods are calling
and you are almost gone.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
7-26-17

 

Almost Everything

I’ve found out
how little I can live with
in the aftermath
of a shared life
that was full
of accumulations
possessions
baggage
clutter
stuff
piled high enough
to interfere
with my peace of mind
and going from room to room
I choose only those things
I can’t live without
and to my surprise
what I can live without
is almost everything.

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
4-30-17

Melting 

He says he loves me
whatever that means–
could be
on his bucket list
to fall
for a girl
who could seduce him
with words–
but now
he’s in too deep
to take it back
since he knows
I’m willing to turn myself
inside out
to please him
and to prove that every
accommodation
I make for him
is just the tip
of an iceberg
he alone is melting.

 

 

DeMaris
4-16-17

Photo by Ansel Adams

Your Name

I know one day
I’ll be buried
under these memories
instead of your body
draped so casually
over mine
because I’m running
out of excuses
for why I need
the entire Sunday
afternoon to do
what could be done
on any other day
in half the time—
and those lies I tell
are so flimsy
and weakened
by my love for you
that it’s just
a matter of time
before I’ll come clean
with a confession—
and your name will
be so heavy
down in my heart
I don’t know how
I’ll lift it into my voice
without breaking.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
4-4-17

“The Lovers” by Rene Magritte, 1928

Justification

You are candy
and decadence
and everything
I shouldn’t have
because you are
bad for me and
I’m bad for you
even though we
feel right in the
bright afternoon
laying together
without words
and without any
need to speak or
ask questions or
try to make sense
of what we are
doing by coming
here again to get
away from what
our lives mean
in the absence of
each other, which
is what most lives
mean—which is
to say it’s a kind
of duty we want
to get away from
for a short time
and we happen to
be perfect for each
other if you can
look at it that way.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
4-1-17

“Hylas and the Nymphs” John William Waterhouse, 1896

 

 

Another Sunday Afternoon

You were already hanging on
by a thread today
when you answered the phone
with as much normal in your voice
as you could muster
and you listened to your spouse
explain the need for something
unneeded
and you don’t have the patience
or the desire
to pay attention anymore
to what amounts to gibberish
after the mad money
goes up in smoke every afternoon
so you hung up the phone
and packed your bag
and wished upon a star
you could be gone when he gets home
but you just sit on the bed
with the keys in your shaking hands
because you know
you have nowhere else to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
3-26-17

“Repose” by John Singer Sargent, 1911