Track 4

Sometimes

Sometimes I wish you hadn’t died.

You left him so broken, beyond repair.

It was all I could do to keep him afloat,

treading water, a burden too heavy

for me to lift. You left him drowning

in unspoken love, unable to let go of

a deflated life preserver.

Sometimes I wonder what you’d think of me.

If you could would you thank me or would

you tell me that I could never heal him?

It was my job to gather the wreckage

you left behind. I taught him to love again,

but I could never teach him to let go.

I could never empty the ocean of hurt.

Sometimes I believe we could have been friends.

He clung to me too, driftwood in the open sea.

We must have something in common. He said

he thought I would like you. Even when his

heart was sore and his lungs were filled,

drowning in the memory of you. Friend,

can I tell you a secret?

Sometimes I hate you more than anything.

I hate what you did to him. I hate that no matter

how far away you are he can’t let go of you.

I hate that he will always love you, how he

doesn’t know how not to love you. I hate

you for dying – not that you chose to die. I wish

you had chosen. Maybe then he’d accept it.

Sometimes I feel like the other woman.

He’s still swimming through the waves,

fighting the current to get to you as if he

doesn’t realize you’ve already been pulled under.

I try to bring him back to shore, to my safe

harbor, but he’s still anchored in you.

Sometimes I think you are selfish.

When you had him you took him for granted,

and yet you held him tight enough to keep

him clinging to you like a buoy out at sea,

clinging to you for air. And now he still clings.

You can’t tell him to let go. Not that you would.

Sometimes I wish he had never met you.

Sometimes I am happy that you’re dead.

Sometimes I wish you never existed.

In the Snow - prismacolor pencil and whiteout on paper

Equations in Momentum

If one train is moving south

at sixty miles per hour and

another train is moving north

at the speed of still,

will they notice the wind

rushing between them as they pass,

or are their worlds too far apart

to make a difference?

Cold Shoulder

Sugared words drip from

sultry lips, making his threshold

glow with the red heat of

inner fire as he opens the door

to the jasmine scent in the evening chill.

She is the one from before.

May I come in?

He thinks it’s better she didn’t.

Jezebel in a cashmere sweater

pouts. I thought you left her.

The fire winks out.

Track 2

I said I never want to see you again

(with anyone but me). The jazz

from the record player challenges

you to leave. Your words break my

bones (but your kisses are a splint).

Believe me, I can live without you

(if I’m already dead). I swear I’ll

go on if you leave (everyone else

behind). Push and sway in time,

give away your heart (it’s mine).

Forgive and forget is so cliché.

I say never give away the past.

Poison Apple

The church is cold as I perch on my pew.

The heater is broken again, third time

this winter. The preacher has begun his

sermon, but all I hear is the silence of your

absence.

My phone rings. It should turn it off,

especially since it’s playing our song.

I know it’s you. I shouldn’t answer.

I stand and duck out to the lobby.

I know judgmental looks are following me.

Your hesitant hello send heat coursing

through my frozen veins, awakening

my stifled senses. Brother Phillip’s

voice echoes over the loud speaker,

but his words are as distant as God.

All I hear is your heavy breathing.

Sunset Over Atlantic

The tan line on my ring finger has faded,

just another reminder of the time we’ve lost

since that day at the beach when my ring

washed away with the tide. We couldn’t afford

to replace it. Maybe I should have taken that as

a sign.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Before our first date you bought me white lilies. I guessed you didn’t know the symbolism. But as the two of us become one for the who-knows-what time – you, deep inside me and I, clenched tight around you – I wonder if you did. Sometimes I feel as if we have become dead together. Your burning skin pressed against me, answering my need, no longer smells like cinnamon, only sweat. As your lips caress my collarbone, my breast, my navel you no longer taste strawberry, only salt. This four-story apartment building, box-shaped and bland, no longer is a stepping stone to a better life, but just another reminder of how our plans fell through. I remember the lilies as your hands squeeze my aching flesh, too warm for a corpse. The sun rises and the birds chirp and I convince myself that we are not yet dead. Even if that sun has long faded our yellow curtains. Even if we hardly speak. Even if you no longer call me liebe, though  we still make love. Even if your touch is the only thing I’m still living for.