Expressing what's on my mind

the crazy things we come up with that
no one understands, we all live in our own
skin pulled taut over beating hearts and
electrified brain cells
how many zeros in the number of synapses
and the connections between them?
it's amazing we can even have a conversation
about those dishes stacked on the kitchen counter.
they are mine, I know since you've been home
I don't carry my weight at all, dropping
my lunch box next to the dirty dishes
only to go upstairs to write or look out the
window at the moon rising in the east
as the sun drops abruptly into the west
what an endless merry-go-round
so I talk to myself, my brain cells in perfect
synchronicity, my heart catching every beat,
my words understood before they are
even spoken.

for E.M.

you're on my left shoulder
and we talk amiably, I know
everything you'll say after so
many years that I can't bear to
hear the questions again, they are
always there and yes, I answer
them, sometimes resentfully,
impatiently, with wise cracks,
snide sometimes, but I answer
because I know they are the
right questions, even if I refuse
to admit that in person.

not even a cup of coffee

he would't even buy her a cup of coffee
the morning after
she lost her job and he stood her up on their
first date.
he apologized, the steam from his peppermint tea
rising up to meet his refined nose,
fogging his glasses.
they were horn-rimmed, of course, in the
newest style, narrow, dark, solid arms
adorned with gold fleur de lys.
she didn't have her purse with her, a typical
female thing to never carry money,
we always figure he has a wallet and
knows how to use it.
how awkward to not know each other
one cup of tea between them, a single job,
a wet raincoat and umbrella hanging
from the arm of his chair.
the hurricane was coming on strong now,
waves crashing against the pier outside.
this was not warm and cozy.
she picked up her book and walked out
into the storm
at least a book can act as an umbrella
for the first few steps towards freedom.

Cobus du Toit, Virtuoso Flutist

he changes his tie after the first Sonata
and then again after each piece, from yellow
to green, blue to brown, no wonder he rushes
from the stage as if to escape our awe
perhaps embarrassing him after so many
hours of practice, only he notices the missed
notes while we, the luckiest ones, settle
comfortably in our seats recognizing this
moment is nirvana, hoping for eternity.

with the door closed at work

with the door closed
their wings flutter against my window
the silence is broken
with the door closed
I look up gratefully at his red breast
then hers, they perch together on
a single supple branch
a simple arc under their weight.
with the door closed
I don't hear phones ring,
deep voices on both sides of me,
I only see their songs on the
other side of this glass
singing to me.

Snow

snow muffles the sound of tires crunching over leaves
now softly resting across the wooden planks of the bridge
they have no crunch left, sodden in snowflakes, resting
for the long season ahead of crisp nights, sleet, sun
and snow skiiers as vast in number as the leaves
spread out across this bridge, settling into winter just
as skiis are being being waxed and hot boxed, fitted and sold,
flying out of stores, credit cards maxed out
snow is here, the muffled sound of skis carving
tracks through newly fallen whiteness.

Buddy and Schrodinger's Cat

I looked out into the living room to see
whether he was dead or alive, on his side, snoring,
is he alive another day to bark at the sky or break windows,
attract another girl from the other side of the block,
quantum entanglement when they cannot yet see each
other yet know they are meant to be together
like us across from each other, you doing a chest press,
me attempting situps.
who knows what goes on behind closed doors,
we thought they were happy and until they emerged
holding divorce papers, or, their new baby girl,
the joy of their life, while the cat stands tall
in his box, stretches and yawns before wandering
off to look for his breakfast, knocking over
the flask of poison on the way out.