From Out of the Closet

The tiny clothes

I pulled out of 

the storage closet 

took me back

like pieces of a story

returning to you.

The plaid jumper 

from her kindergarten picture.

The t-shirt printed with 

I had my birthday party 

at Aero Gymnastics.

The wooden puzzles 

of shapes and pictures 

fitting into their perfect frames. 

The blocks with letters 

and numbers on all sides--

the ones she pulled 

in their wooden wagon 

with the red string. 

So many memories 

poured out of the closet. 

So much of who she was

who I was

who we were together. 

It seems crazy now 

that we don't need 

these things anymore 

when I once thought 

that time would last forever.

All the Things We'll Do

Wanting assurances 

in the tone of a voice 

in the sweet spoken words.

Dismissing wonder, doubt

knowing this is real 

we are real together.

Hoping for things

finding comfort in 

synchronized sentimentality.

Living without fear, confusion 

uncertainty in one another.

Finding as many tender quiet 

moments as possible;

savoring, devouring 

not wasting even one.

Telling stories, sharing secrets

of who we were before.

Smiling at the transformation 

we have become. 

Never forgetting reciprocity 

love works no other way.

Making All The Decisions

It's tough making all the decisions. 

Floundering in variables

confounded by possibilities. 

I always hate the dismissive tone 

of others who don't have to make 

these choices. Like they could 

breeze through my hurdles 

and easily take first place.

I once hated being at the mercy 

of people but aren't we are all 

in this crazy life together? 

Suffering and succeeding equally? 

It's hard to let them have 

that stake in our outcome 

but we have to believe

along with them

a larger entity exists

holds all the real power

passes it on when the time is right. 

It's watching our lives 

like a relay race

waiting for its turn to step in.

Cucumber Salad

He has a recipe for cucumber salad

and all I can think is 

this could be it. 

Of all the coincidences 

we like the same salad.

He says one thing, then another 

and I'm laughing with

a new best friend

but one I've not yet met

laid eyes on, leaned into

for a casual embrace.

And there is the 

appropriateness of his words

sweeter than both our cucumber 

salad recipes combined.

Who thought such a gentleman

with his own cucumber salad recipe

existed. I never thought it

but now I believe it.

Possibililty

I'm not sure if I want to feel this way

with all it can mean

and how it can change a life.

The volley of friendship ascending

like the impetus to a crescendo.

It's safe and calm before vulnerability

then roused with possibility. 

I'm eager to jump 

but if I keep looking down

I never will.

I question if the landing will be swift 

smooth, a glide into unexplored depths

or a crash, so harsh, breaks the fall

arrests momentum

and everything from possibly being. 

I don't know if I want to feel this way.

The gradual pull is curious 

so I allow myself to be pulled

slowly, holding on at every step.

I implore possibility, tempt fate

beckon reverie as I ponder

if this will be the moment

the beginning of my eternity

when I plunge into a body of water 

fathomless, devouring

let it swallow me whole.

Strong

I can be strong 

just when you

think I'm weak

soaking my pillow 

with tears at night

afraid of the real world--

I'm stronger than that. 

I could steamroll right 

over you if I had to,

lift you over my head

and throw you back

to your life 

like an unwanted fish

so you could master

your performance 

of the aloof executive 

who has forgotten 

everyday people 

are special too,

not just the 

high and mighty

so-called elite. 

I'm strong enough to know 

the difference between 

confident and arrogant 

kindness and patronizing. 

Can you tell which

I believe you to be?

Signs

How do you know if change

is good, is right, is coming? 

If footprints on the path 

find a fork or a cross

and take it, a shift occurs. 

And if this shift causes 

warmth from the sun's rays 

to last longer

the moon to shine brighter

and be no wind 

pressed against your chest 

but lovingly at your back

it may be a sign. 

If flowers begin to bloom 

at your feet

and up ahead there is a clearing

a vast green clearing

and you run

to feel the cool grass 

under your feet

It's definitely a sign.

Book Sale Ritual

She goes there for the poetry books

standing in the same aisle every time. 

Philosophy and psychology share the 

aisle but it's fine so long as she can dig 

on her side, unencumbered. It takes time 

to scour the stack and peruse samples 

from prospective picks. She's not much 

of an anthology girl, as she likes to get to

know a poet. Some books have yellowed 

pages, dusty covers, and a musky scent 

that comes from years of sitting on wooden 

shelves. Each has different paper, ink, fonts, 

words; everything crafty metaphors and 

inanimate personification needs. Over the

loudspeaker, We will be closing in thirty minutes. 

She checks her stack of books piled near as 

she thumbs their pages, approving the selections. 

She thinks to herself, maybe just one more.

The Girl in the Price Chopper Plaza

She's standing against the wall

as I come walking out.

Worn clothes and shoes, tired,

looking in need of a fix maybe

or is it food, I can't tell which

as thin as she is. I only had a few dimes 

and pennies in my purse, and in 

her soft, careful voice, she said

That's okay, it's better than nothing.

I reached down into my pockets 

hoping I had more, and I think 

I was more disappointed I didn't.

She smiled, I walked away, but

I remember her from the winter 

when the parking lot was full of snow 

and slush and she walked about it 

to stay warm as she asked for change. 

That day I had a whole dollar to give her. 

This New Society We're In

I think we are far more expressive than ever

and when I say "we" I mean the human race. 

When, before in history, have you seen people 

so responsive, emotive, liking things, loving things, 

laughing uncontrollably or even shedding a tear?

In the verbal world, some barely speak, let alone 

offer a good suggestive nod. The silence about 

ordinary things, once very normal. No one shared, 

no one listened. Now the buffet is jammed packed 

and you, me, everyone, keeps going back for more. 

We've become insatiable in our look into others' lives. 

Once, news got around by telling one person and 

then they would tell another person, and so on. 

Look how modern expediency has shared vacation 

photos, recaps of date night, and school achievements 

of our best and brightest in one click. When have you 

ever received so many birthday wishes? We know 
each other better today than ever before in human history.

Listening

She hates the messages

that imply "I am only your friend

if I can tell you all my ailments

and I won't listen to yours."

She says, one more text to ask 

how I am so she can be sicker, 

more tired, have more problems, 

and I will tell her, I swear I will tell her.

I say, do you know you be-friended

your mother? She laughs and changes 

the subject. After that, we talk about 

her new job and how she is coping with 

adjusting to very normal surroundings. 

She talks about her leg that seemingly 

lost muscle strength, and then decided 

in the same breath, "it must be from the 

antibiotic I'm taking for my infection."

Then more on the infection, ending

with what groceries she will buy.

I had my turn, began to tell her about 

my teenage daughter's emotional 

reaction to social injustice in school. 

It was very, very quiet on the other end. 

Scary

Even with all the ghosts 

and presumed apparitions 

even with those returning from the dead 

to eat the flesh from our bones.

Even with the possibility of a 

modern-day Jack the Ripper

or even just going to the movies 

nowadays, real scary stuff is 

closer than you think. 

It's so close, with you all the time

never leaves, like gum on your shoe

and it's filled with the scariest stuff 

imaginable. You can't empty it out 

like stinky garbage or throw it away

like old shoes you don't want anymore.

It knows how to conjure ideas, 

thoughts, pictures, all of them not real

and if you're not careful, vigilant 

in your own fiction

you might think they are. 

The Call

Once, we sat by the phone

never leaving its side

afraid to go out, it might be missed.

Now we take it with us 

everywhere 

but we're still as neurotic 

raising the ring tone 

coupling it with vibration

pulling it out of our pocket 

in between breaths

to see if it happened yet

anticipating it to happen

simultaneously 

but of course we know 

a watched pot's water never boils

and despite it being so at the ready

we somehow miss it

and all that convenience, 

for what? Are you serious

you forgot to set up voicemail?

Maybe some calls are never 

meant to be answered.