I Dream of You Mowing the Grass
On my walk today, a few yards ahead,
a man pushed a lawnmower
and for a moment I thought it was you.
Cut off jeans.
Frizzy hair the length of a man who had seen more than his fair share of Iron Maiden tour concerts.
Unbuttoned flannel that waved open with each step, the t-shirt underneath reading the name of a band I had never heard of
or perhaps just did not read correctly.
It wasn't you, however.
Of course it wasn't.
He was older than you
because he was alive.
Nine months older.
What a sight to catch a glimpse of you doing yardwork.
Something I never realized, I never witnessed.
I dream of the regular things I never saw you do.
Like mowing the grass.
The things we never-and will never- get to do.
I dream of the regular things.
You in the passenger seat of my car, choosing the radio station.
You helping to load carboard boxes into my first house.
You being proud of me for buying a house.
(I also dream of one day owning a house)
I dream of you popping over for coffee on the weekends.
You becoming Grandpa (or whatever ridiculous name you would want to call yourself to be edgy).
I dream of the regular things.
You changing a lightbulb.
You telling me about your dentist appointment.
Getting a call from you, and not just because the calendar said so.
Hearing that you booked off time from work to see me.
You reading a book in a comfy chair
Or dozing off in front of a hockey game.
But I know.
I know it wasn't enough for you...
The regular things that would have been enough for me.
This is a truth I must reconcile with
and I am trying.
I dream of seeing you mow the grass.
I dream I had been there to hold you while you were dying.
God Sends Me Cats
As I walked through the mist, a small cat- black and white -with large eyes crept down a path from a backyard. God sends me cats, so I listened closely for the teaching.
I stopped walking to crouch where I stood with palm-up, open hands and offered a soft "pst". The cat held eye contact with me, walking sweet and surefooted as though it would come right into my arms. Joy spread through my heart. I was special. I was chosen. I had something about me that the cat just wanted to get close to. Just looking at it I could feel its soft fur, hear the purrs, imagined us being all snuggled in my bed. It felt real. The cat closed the distance until only 10 feet away.
Then it stopped. Its body language changed. It staggered back, flattened its ears and looked away toward an escape route. I did not change my posture nor my action, staying crouched with palm-up, open hands. I did not approach or make myself bigger than it, just waited to watch what it chose to do. I spoke another "pst" and then a "hey, it's okay."
The cat darted off to the left through the darkened garden. Appearing on the far side of the brush, it ran down the sidewalk without another glance at me.
What happened? What changed? What did I do wrong?
Had I chased it I may have caught it, but likely would have been scratched and lost it all the same, just in a worse way. Had I been carrying a treat, he may have come to me but staying only momentarily until his feast was over. Then for even those moments he stayed how could I then be sure it was for me at all.
The only way for me to have him was for him to choose me, and he did not. He chose to run the opposite direction, creating distance ensuring I had no access to him. Though I looked over my shoulder and felt a sadness as I accepted this, I knew he was never mine. Even from the beginning when it felt I was sure he was.
Had I not walked down that road I’d have not felt the loss or rejection. The embarrassment from other onlookers. The devastation and confusion. The lack of closure and lingering questions of what could have been. However, I would also not have deepened my respect for myself in letting things be.
I know myself. I know I could have given that cat comfort, love, a home. Had he chosen me, I know I would have made him so happy. I am a peaceful heart, a kind soul and respectful in my ability to accept that the choices of others are only theirs. He did not choose me, and while there are parts of him I feel I missed out on, I know more of that which he missed out on from me.
Perhaps the cat was put-off by something about me when he got too close. Perhaps I moved my hands the wrong way or wore the wrong perfume. Perhaps I made one too many "pst pst" sounds and annoyed him. Perhaps my posture was too pushy or assuming. Perhaps he was scared by a passing car or other pedestrian. Perhaps he was hurt by a girl like me before. Perhaps he saw the a girl through the garden that looked like the one he lost. Perhaps he already had a home and I was merely an obstacle to get back...
I will never know why he didn’t choose me. I do know, however, that I was meant to see him, hope for him, briefly have him and lose him. Because God sends me cats.
To Forgive
To forgive you is a sinkhole
of quicksand that I am helpless to
disappearing into.
The more I struggle,
suffocating in the gravity of it all
against the incomparable strength and pressure
that folds around me as things go dark once again.
Like a natural current washing me back on your shores
no matter how I strain my arms to paddle
the wind works against me
as though the weather is always wrong.
To forgive you is a reflex,
catching the egg as it rolls off the counter
tenderly, gently in my palm.
With the power to break it
but unable.
To forgive you is to place it back in the carton
and forfeit my meal.
Leaving the house without an umbrella
not checking the forecast and leaving it all to chance.
Submitting to what the forces beyond myself will bring.
But again, the weather...
To forgive you is a live trap I release the latch on yet again
knowing two more of my chickens
will go missing this evening.
But everyone has to eat.
To forgive you is my tongue out catching snowflakes,
head tipped back, eyes closed, throat exposed.
Unknowing if I am getting anything.
But it's all the same either way
for I will never know.
I will always posture myself this way
that makes it the easiest to trust.
In the the physics.
Your hunger.
My weakness.
The weather.
My thirst.
Waving
Waving.
What we do well.
Why waste what we've weightlessly weaved
with words?
Words will without waver
wither wonderful waiting.
Wobbly waves will withstand.
Whether we want warmth
or warnings.
Waves will wash our wants,
witnessing where we
wish we were.
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I love alliteration poems! Please leave me prompts and your favorite letter (and even a word count!) I would be so grateful for the challenge
Let Yourself Let it Go
My dear, let yourself
let it go.
Though sad, unfair
to leave unknown.
Unknown, the smiles.
Unknown intent.
Unknown how many
nights both spent
out wand'ring streets
so aimlessly
hoping paths to cross.
Unseen.
Just bleed and seethe.
My dear, let yourself
let it go.
The knife is twisted.
Flesh has torn.
Torn out, your lungs.
Torn out, your eyes.
Torn out your heart
of shallow lies
set waiting by the
silent phone
revering love
though stark alone.
Moan and groan.
My dear, let yourself
let it go.
For if he loved you
You would know.
Galaxy
My galaxy reformed beyond just the sky.
To how often upon something you lay your eyes
and with how much warmth or with deep despise.
Who is your Moon? That you sing to each night?
Who is your Sun? Whom coats all in light?
For a moment I thought- I felt -maybe you might
grab my hands and swing me in circular flight.
Are your stars the walks you wish to take on your own?
Is your orbit the six blocks that circle your home?
No. Wider and faster your path, now I see.
Which is how I don't know how there is no space for me.
For your Moon and your Sun, I can only guess who
but your Pluto cast out into deep inky blue...
Simply exiled one day without even a word.
No longer acknowledged.
No longer heard.
Yes your Pluto there is no question of
who is she.
For you are the Sun
and meek Pluto is me.
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(Alt. last lines for my own memory: If you are the Sun, then meek Pluto is me)
Spring
Small, hard buds will shortly bloom
Into green leaves, the morning dew
will grace the grass soon tinting green.
The sun will shine, the birds will sing.
Small streams of melted snow vacate.
Love calls out for its sweet mates.
A warmer, kinder air hangs ’round.
Seeds planting in softened ground.
The ancient earth appears again,
renewed and washed away of sin.
Fresh calendar reveals new months
and pledges change so soon to come.
A choir of voices carrying
A longing call to welcome spring.
Favorite Shirt
I look at a photo
from years ago,
a moment I forgot I lived.
And in it, a shirt.
I can feel it on my skin
its worn softness.
Comfortable,
though ill-fitting.
Worn nearly every day
to bed, to work, to school.
Brought everywhere.
In many pictures
moments
places
trips
the shirt was
against my skin
or at least not far from it.
When did I decide to give it away?
And whose skin is so lucky to feel is easy warmth now?
A reason I fail to recall.
Was it a loose thread? Missing button?
So foolish then... it would have been an easy fix.
Or was it something else?
The way it enhanced my worst qualities. Or draped lazily over my curves.
The way the sleeves refused to stay rolled
and the pocket on the front was not functional at all.
No.
I truly cannot recall, nor the day it ceased to be in my laundry.
In my life.
How funny that something I once held so dear
and which held me
is now only existent when
I look at a photo.