They Say

They say

Ashes to ashes

and

Dust to dust

But it ain’t gonna be

That way with us.

Ember to ember

and

flame to flame

Something tells me I’m gonna go out

Screaming your name.

You and me, we didn’t do it

Like all the fairy tales said

You ain’t no white knight

and

I’m no damsel in distress.

They say

Love is patient, and

It’s all you need

But I’m always in a hurry

and

We’ve both got big dreams.

So if you’ll strike the match honey,

I’ll fan the flames

You drive the getaway truck

and

I’ll take the blame.

 

They say

Ashes to ashes

and

Dust to dust

But it ain’t gonna be

That way with us.

 

when the night comes

Some days

I can fool myself into thinking

I’m alright.

A walk outside,

A giggle or a conversation,

Pleasant distractions.

Two or three moments

Strung together

That do not wound me.

False confidence, as I think

Perhaps it’s not so bad,

This new life.

Maybe I can live it.

When

Suddenly, quietly,

Like a fox slipping through

The fence at dusk

It comes…

Creeping into me,

Cyphening the light from

My chest and the love

From my bones

I am destroyed

As

Ever so slowly

(Yet somehow all at once)

I die, I die, I die.

 

Why Aren’t There More Love Poems

Why aren’t there more love poems

About Grandmothers?

Epic hero’s journey tales recounting

Their fantastic feats?

My Bonmama is nearly 93.

Once she was of noble blood, a beauty queen

Raven hair, dark eyes, sharp wit.

She is trilingual, a WWII military translator

An immigrant, a mother of 5, an entrepreneur

In short,

She moved mountains with her bare hands

(Usually before breakfast.)

Later in her life,

After raising all her children

Building a business

Assimilating into a foreign culture

Earning retirement,

She raised two more kids.

Not half-heartedly, not begrudgingly

But with love, enthusiasm, and candor.

My grandmother is my mother.

She is my very best girlfriend.

She is extraordinary.

Every time I talk to her I feel home

(In the way that only her home has ever felt)

She gave me culture, humor, and grit

She is my beacon and my true North.

And I’m sitting here after a long late chat

Wondering why no one writes love poems

About Grandmothers

My Bonmama has loved me more honestly

More enduringly, more enthusiastically

Than any other, and in return I have

Tried to treasure her, honor and humor her

Though nothing could repay her for

Her heart

Which I know I hold in my hands

Perhaps the challenge is in articulating

The greatness of a woman unprecedented

Unparalleled

There are no sufficient words to express

All that she has been and continues to be

For me.

And so no poems are written here,

No songs are sung

She is otherworldly.

Too dear for this kind of thing

I’ll keep it to myself, then.

I’ll keep it between us –

Where it has always been.

Instagram

I am losing hope.

I feel disfigured

Disgusting

Unsuccessful

Untalented

Betrayed

Stupid

Sad

Tired

Mostly tired.

Hashtag: good vibes only.

Again

I have slept a thousand nights

Without the walls closing in

A thousand nights!

I won. I win.

Suddenly, without warning,

The walls are pressing in on me

Again

I can’t sleep

And I can’t breathe

And I will die before I let them crush me

Again

Please don’t let them crush me again.

Conditioned

Lady and the Tramp

Is the first time

I remember being told

That the guy

(From the wrong side of the tracks)

Has a heart of Gold.

 

Next was Johnny Castle –

(A classic example)

of

The nobility of blind love.

And I think about them and

I wonder:

If this is why my mom went under

So many times?

 

The guy who would drink

And pull her around

(by her hair)

With all his affairs –

He nearly broke her.

 

And the man she married (twice)

He played so nice,

Smiling, and smiling,

Snorted our inheritance.

(At least he never hit us.)

 

We moved so much,

New schools, new houses

(Mouses)

That big wooden mansion

The creaky door

Frigid nights lying on a cold floor

Crying.

 

Is this love or is this dying?

Why do they feel the same?

 

I write about love so much,

(And inside me it’s all twisted)

An abstract, a theory

Sewn together with earthworms

And memories that feel like

Delusions.

 

What I have learned,

What I have earned

Is at least the certainty

That

 

Love does not mean pain,

It doesn’t scream or steal or lie

And many times

You can love someone and

Still walk away

Because it’s wrong –

(The side of the tracks you’re on,)

And no one is singing

There is no happy ending,

So you go.

 

(So I go.)

 

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Unlikely

Jealousy

Jealous. See?

But you don’t even want me.

Is anyone ever

Telling the truth

About who they are?

Maybe I Am

If I was a voodoo priestess

(Maybe I am, maybe I am)

I’d keep your tongue in a jar

Your eyes on a shelf

Your heart buried in the yard

Behind my house.

Intruder

It is a masterful thief, indeed

Whom I beg

Pray, take one more thing

As he makes his way

Out the front door

I stop him

To give a bit more

All the while,

I smile

Thanking him

For the privilege

Of being robbed.