When it Rains

They’ll find me, they always do.
They’ll hunker down above my house and wait,
seams ready to burst. Then they’ll pour
with all their might, they’ll pour.

Lumbering in,
dark clouds linger
over my world. Swollen,
eager to erupt in a flood of gray.

I’m armed; umbrella in hand,
leaks plugged, windows shut.
But it’s all for naught.
I’ll get splattered nonetheless.

Although I’m protected,
the splashes will seek me out,
taint me with their melancholy,
color me shades of blue.

Sunrise

I woke to blue skies.
A respite from the gray clouds
that smothered me.

Relieved from the burden of desperation,
I caught my breath and rose like a flower
from beneath the crush of a shoe.

I looked another in the eye,
held their gaze and felt worthy.
Today I saw the sun rise

for the first time in a while
and it bathed my world
in possibility.


*Published in Mused Spring 2011

Ocean Sketch

Rocks flecked with gulls and sandpipers
buffer the shores of the Atlantic,
placid and blue.

Firmament kisses water
and clouds shift in the current,
abstract art in flux.

Rooted on its banks,
a lighthouse guards drifting channels--
an earthbound north star.

Watercolors

The flowers on my silk dress
run together in the rain
like the finger paints of a child
as he drags his hands across them.

Clearly not Monet’s lilies
but just as beautiful to me,
rain blurs the floral pattern
I fell in love with in the store window.

There’s nothing cohesive or definitive here.
Abstract, like the life I lead,
it’s just a myriad of technicolor swirls
that meander over fabric.

The Makings of More

Little wren on my balcony
what a sweet face you have.
I wish I had a morsel

so you would come closer.
What friendship could be forged
over crumbs and coffee.

Dance Macabre

Living is like dancing.
I don’t do it very well.
Every day I force one foot
in front of the other.

But there’s no verve in my step,
no beauty in the motion.
Just a dull thud
as one leg plods ahead of the next.

No grace in my follow-through.
No feel for the rhythm of life.
Just a well rehearsed drudgery

day in and day out
as I slog through the muck of being.

Dry Spell

The thunder utters discontent
and I am envious.
I stifle my unhappiness
and swallow it like nails.

I want to growl
and shed a thousand tears
like driving rain.
Pelt the earth with hailstorms,
throw a lightning bolt or two.

Instead, my sorrow festers
until I crumble,
a dry heap on the ground.