Tag Archives: around the house

while you were out

13 Jun

i left piles, made messes, but always closed the blinds.
i ran errands, a few miles, and the air conditioner plenty.

i spoke softly, around noon, to the first person i saw each day.
sometimes the mailman or a phone call, once accidentally at the morning news.
you would have laughed, too,
at me and the faux pas.

i stayed up later, unsure, of the creaks and the whir of the fan.
the sound machine sounds different from your side of the bed.

i watched t.v. – too much – seasons and seasons of a latest addiction.
i cried for fictional texas strangers & jumped at the neighbor’s bike starting.
i took out the recycling.
i walked alone.

i was mostly fine, with just enough time, to think myself under a rock.
especially at night,
when the stillness settled thick,
i wondered myself to sleep.

where were you?
what time was it?
were you comfortable and at peace?
what new vistas would change the way you see while i sleep?

as i checked the lock or shopped for one,
i couldn’t help but smile . . .
for the minute by minute truths your awayness brought home:
how much i am me,
home is home,
and this life is as sweet as it is,
because you’re mine.

****

posted in anticipation of a late night airport pick up after 2 weeks away.

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dream disasters

25 Apr
Corner 2

click for photo credit

april 24th, 2011,
the night i finally lost it.

two a.m. found me flat on my back, both arms raised and gripping one of the empty frames that hang above our bed.

it was clearly important to me that this frame no longer hang on the wall, but hover above my sleepy face, all four corners threatening to do serious damage to a just-roused luke.

my orders in the darkness: “open it,” “where is it?” and “try!”

at daybreak, with no recollection of this disaster, i found a frame at my feet and confusion in my coffee.

if anyone knows what lives on the other side of this dream frame, or perhaps how i can address this need wake-side and stop hurling corners in the darkness, i’d be ever so grateful.

if it happens again, we may be in the market for for some helmets.

kitchen poetry

14 Mar

i watch the kettle for boiling and the sun carry dust in its beams.

nothing’s ever really clean in the brightness.

yet even a vaguely tidy kitchen lends its freshness to my spirit.

order asserts herself as the chaos begins to bubble.

i close my eyes & await the whistle:

whatever comes pouring out, i sip with joy.

for this home rewards rest; this kitchen turns mayhem to mist.