Poetry

I hear the swift slap of your shoes retreating on the stairs,
The rattle of plates on the draining board as you slam the door;
I pound my fists into the carpet, gulping air.
You drive into the city for a drink; I lie weeping on the floor.
When you swept the coins from the littered dresser top,
An arc of silver dimes rained on the bed.
The children’s whispers in the hallway made us stop;
I bit my lip and gathered coins instead.

 

Now in the shuttered silence as you sleep,
My throat grows tight. I remember when we lay,
Your breath in my mouth, our hearts’ twin beat;
We never thought it would end up this way.
Tonight, I close my eyes against this sorrow;
We will make it right again, tomorrow.

Ecclesiastes 3
…there is a time for every event under heaven
A time to give birth and a time to die
A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted

I can only sow new seeds each spring
never knowing if they will in sweet fullness rise

carrot greens like feathers against my skin
basil sharp with pepper on my fallow tongue

lettuce leaves blooming like layered flowers
roses wild and fickle under late arriving showers

I can only kneel here in the dirt
sowing this kitchen garden with my tears

for all that I have done
and all that I have failed to do

for the shoots that will not grow to the sun
the years that have passed in seasons one by one

knowing we are all of us from the earth
born of man to gather stones for a brief hour

but simple farmers set afield
bending to the rows for a measured span

I can only do as I must
carry water and scatter stones

reap and sow
love and let go

May 9, 2016