Set every soul and story down including your own Let each of the world's cares sit idle untroubled by your efforts to right them If stitching together is needed other hands will do the mending Feel the weight slip from your shoulders The earth is strong enough to hold you
Have you met my lover, the poet? And by meeting, can you know her slow caress of words? Some verse, rehearsed familiar to both our tongues Some days I believe I know her by heart mistaken to think I know her heart Have you met my poet, the lover?
Sometimes my friends and I choose a word or phrase and then each write a piece to include it. Here, we chose the phrase “my lover, the poet.” In this piece I imagine myself as the poet about whom the speaker is writing.
You wake tomorrow morning and the world, your world is exactly as you need it You are alive in ways amazing and once feared What then is this miracle this answer to unuttered prayer?
This is the way of wisdom: What was once unimaginable now the surest thing
The final plate rinsed and neatly stacked from this last supper together For years I planned prepared, served You ate I washed, dried put away You read Thank you for another beautiful feast, you said You raised a toast but not a finger
It's time to slip behind the wheel again stretch fingers across smooth leather ride the rhythm of advancing gears and accelerate into the next great thing. Gas, clutch, shift But now, here: Objects in mirror are sadder than they appear.
Whose rage is so big to fracture her small arm his tiny skull? It's a family matter say the people here our hands are tied But I am old enough to know she did not disobey he did not fall
One of my many fatal flaws: Optimism in the face of tragedy At Pompeii I would have been the one to say maybe this isn't all bad at least the ash will preserve us
I look at the bed and realize you will be here soon enough and for the whole rest of time as I know it It will become our bed our home So maybe savor these last few minutes, days alone? There will be precious little emptiness in the years ahead
You are afraid of what others might say how it looks to be seen with me. I'm ready to take my tender heart home. Better to be sad about what is real than what is imagined. So that's why I ask: why so worried? what story have you spun for yourself about this about any of this?