Tag Archives: woods

Waiting Room

I am not impatient this time
waiting for my turn
to lay back in the chair and open wide—
there are children whispering loudly
and bells dangling from the door
announcing everyone’s exit and entry
but it all goes on without me
like the volume is turned way down
on just another reality TV show—
I am lost in yesterday.
I am full of the heat that followed us
into the woods and I can only hear
the song of the warblers,
those black and white ones
who provided our sound track
as we kissed on the fallen hickory—
and after I am rattled into alertness
by the sound of my name
I’ve got nothing to do for 15 minutes
but close my eyes
and let both my hands rest on my belly
while I consider where you’ve touched me—
and I don’t even need five fingers to count
the number of times we’ve made love
but in this noisy and populated darkness
I am alone with your body
and we are filling up our hands.

 

 

 

DeMaris
6-12-17

 

 

Photograph

 

It feels like I’ve said
almost everything I can
about the way I love you—
the way it feels warm to have you
in the center of my heart—
and how happy I am to wake up
next to that smile of yours
even if it’s just a picture of us
together on our happiest day
being silly and reckless
somewhere in the middle of our lives
which were never
supposed to converge like this
in the middle of nowhere—
and when I took that photo
deep in the woods, my right arm
wrapped tightly around you,
I wasn’t thinking
about the past or the future—
or the ethics of our union.
I wasn’t thinking that one day
I’d need to explain
what I was doing there with you—
that no one else would see what I see
in that joyful photograph—
all the love, beauty, bravery
and restoration—
the depth of feeling
words are powerless to express
or deny.

 

 

 

DeMaris
3-6-17

 

Waiting for the Wildflowers

All winter
we wait for them—
for the surprise
of blue
or yellow or white
and we take
their picture as if
they were babies
we want to show off
to our friends!
Soon they will
become confetti
for the celebration
of spring—
a reward
for enduring
that colorless season,
which will wait its turn
to come again
while summer
flaunts its green
and autumn leaves
cover the woods
in a blanket of orange—
but today, the
Harbinger of Spring
is stirring
and whispering
wake up
to the snow trillium
and bluebells
and yellow buttercups
that will fill the air
with a fragrance
so sweet
we might forget
what trouble
grows inside the houses
we left behind
to spend a few hours
strolling
through this carnival
of hope and rebirth.

 

 

 

DeMaris
2-27-17

Fires

 

My boots were muddy
from our walk in the woods
and my hands were cold
on that February afternoon
bright with cumulus clouds
demanding their share of the sky
and below their gaze
we stood face to face
with bashful smiles
and you took my hands
in yours and refused to let me
burrow under your layers
to get to your warm belly
which was beginning to laugh
at how good it was
to be alive in that moment
and then you kissed me
and drove me to your house
where you made a real fire
and together we made one too
and the weight of nothing but you
was upon me and I have never
been so naked or felt so clean.

 

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
2-13-17

Painting by A.J. Casson, “Algoma” 1929

 

Love, Declined

It truly didn’t matter
how happy we were
sitting on that fallen oak
covered with snow
talking about the things
we’d do come spring
or how perfectly content
you seemed
pinned to the tulip tree
which helped you stand
as I kissed you for the
thousandth time
with no way to know
it would be the last—
all our talks and laughter
and comfortable silences
weren’t right enough
for those words
you whispered in my ear
to mean what I thought
they would mean
when I wanted to know
if we could be more
than just a foolish wish
that wouldn’t come true.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
1-31-17

 
 

 

 

Note to Myself

When you have lowered
your expectations
lower them again.
Let them ride on the bottom
of your boots—
Expect nothing in return
or in exchange
or in favor
of happiness,
which seems abundant
only in the woods—
where you had a lovely exchange
with a man
admiring the wildflowers
on the riverbank.
Forget about his smile
and the way he wrapped his arm
around a Sugar Maple
as he spoke to you.
You will never know
how it feels to have his arms
wrapped around your body
like that—
and you need to stop
returning to that tree
hoping to find him there—
pretending you are
sturdy enough
to lean into, to need—
to love.

 

DeMaris
12-6-16