Tag Archives: disappointment

You and You and You

You and you and you.
Here is what I have.
This is what I offer.
This is what I am.
I am an ear,
I am a voice.
I will listen to you
and speak to you
but there is no body
available for warmth
or comfort.
My body is my own now.
My pleasure is unshared.
Wait, you said.
And I waited.
Wait longer, you said.
And I obeyed my heart.
I stayed alone.
I preserved my heart for you.
And you
and you.
I preserved my body for you.
And you
and you.
I preserved my mind for you.
And you
and you.
And here I am
at the other end of waiting.
My hands are empty.
My voice echoes in my empty room.
My heart is cemented
to this floor,
this foundation
that no one helped me build.
My every pleasure is unshared
as well as every pain.
And here I am, a pillar.
in this tireless
relentless wind.



Nights Like This

Nights like this

you wish he would

show up at your door

out of the blue sorrow

you’ve been swimming in.

Nights like this

you imagine yourself letting go.

You imagine breaking

the tight grip of every restraint

propriety has on you.

Nights like this

you are alone enough

to imagine yourself

out of bounds.

You are alone enough

to imagine yourself bold.

Nights like this

are nights

when he never comes.

Out Loud

Hearing myself speak
to a dear old friend
at the grocery store
about the one I loved
was a revelation—
and pulled out of me a few facts
I’d never heard out loud—
facts like:
I loved him because…
But this…
But that…
We didn’t…
We couldn’t…
and I watched pity
twist her face into a grimace
filled with an empathy
reserved for those
who should know better
than to put all one’s eggs
into one basket—
and because I had a dozen
in my cart as well as
frozen meatballs
and frozen fish,
I thought it best to part
before I let the truth
finish another sentence.
I said, He didn’t want me
to put my life on hold…
but the truth
was finished when the words
he didn’t want me
landed in my ears
and put a fresh sting
into my long dry eyes.






“Two Women on the Hillside” by Franz Marc, 1906


Anger Management

I don’t
want to calm down
don’t want to cope
with this disappointment
this anger
that’s on me
in me
around me
for what feels like miles
and I don’t want
to walk out from under it
escape it
stop it
end it
push it back
it can stay as long as it likes
long enough for me
to hold it
examine it
study its origin
its source
the way it tightens
then loses its grip
and always disappears.






Photo by Ansel Adams


The storm flares up
and glass-like waves
into you
and there are
two ports
one barely lit
an intermittent
you aren’t
yet sure
of its dependability—
but the other,
farther away,
has a brighter light—
seems to have
you’ll need
in a harbor.
You turn
in its direction
hoping it’s safe—
you made
the right choice—
now, all you can do
is follow
its illumination
pulling you
onto its shore.










No one thinks ahead
to the small rooms we’ll go home to
when the night is black
and the lights are fluorescent
flashing and spinning
in every imaginable color
and the smell of cotton candy
and fried anything
is as thick as your wallet
when you pull it out to buy a chance
at the stuffed bear that’s twice as big
as the beautiful girl who says she wants it
and by the time you’re ready to give up
tossing the rings into a sea of two liter bottles
the carnie makes you a deal
says he’ll give you one more chance,
half price, and all of a sudden
you’re watching the enormous creature
being placed into the arms of your date
who, months later, will decide
she doesn’t have room in her life
for the two of you
and she’ll kick you both to the curb
and become someone else’s prize.