jasmine

my head is full of you.

a lover who knows

no end. finds me

in daylight,

lights dusk.

pulls me in,

casting a net

to trap me

in sweet, fragrant

seduction.

peu de fleur blanche,

my head is full of you,

you’ve pushed

everything else

out.

stuck

I float

then bob

untethered

no one

pulls me down 

stuck to the ceiling

I am

wanted

                  Boss. he charged me to look at the sign on the wall for a business that failed, we aren’t this. he was old and scraggly, behind the times or so everyone thought, but he’d win the prize ‘cause he was smart like a fox. he gave me the courage to face the deep end and dive in.       Friend. alone. in nyc. with strangers, not my people. escaping, only an address that led me to a street in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Cab. Stoop. Wait. saw him coming down the street. rushing to meet him, he wondered, what’s wrong baby. I confessed. he said, don’t give ‘em the good stuff, never give ‘em the good stuff. he knew what that was about me.     Lover. he loved me long. I’m certain that I was his last thought. powerful. listened to me babble about Babylon. rushed to open my door. put flowers next to my side of the bed. held me tight when he wanted nothing but to do that. Always. Always. Always. forever.     Wanted. someone. who could be a little of all three. just a little. expectant. knowing. devoted.

first day of spring

veiled in warm sleep still,
the hawk meets my step
calling the frost to
unsettle spring's day.
dressed tight in blue sky,
snow filled clouds move off
out over the lake
pushing cold inland.
crows post the corners,
bulbs stand at ready,
yet I've lost all hope
the lion will leave.

march

crisp cold comes

under a cracked

window to lie

next to me

as the small

of my back

tries to push

a daffodil from its bulb.

I’d give anything

for a warm hand

to tend to it,

not His who made

all of the cycles

of Nature,

a southerly wind

to thaw and coax

what is cruel out. 

grandpa's whiskey

poured only when the bottle of wine is dry

on special occasions when the heart

is clouded with what ifs and whys;

its certain tribal elixir a comfort in storms

and time that doesn’t fit into every day.

I pull a dram to call the tribe to circle ‘round,

protect me from playboys of the west  and

certain agents that dishonor the tri-colour:

turn coats that can’t know a day of toil and turf

whose hands  haven’t held the hand of the earth.

in a barrel-filled room full of the amber stream,

I find my grandfather who kept bottles in boxes

in case the big lake pulled in mountains of snow

jailing him in solitary confinement: it’s noon in New York

and he tastes manhattan: whiskey and sweet vermouth.

I am his daughter, one who has only sons,

he pulls me to him and says that I will hold up the name

in spite of the patriarchy, in spite of the brawn and

arrogance that are his second sons;

he knows that I am the one to bring him whiskey. 

drunk, alone

don’t worry about me

I can get drunk alone

I can call on my demons

to keep me company

I can pour another round

find conversation in a memory

if a song comes on the radio

I can dance by myself

cheers! I raise my glass

to those that might have come

those that are closest to my vest

are here in spirit to wind me up

don’t worry about me, darlin'

I can drink alone