June 20, 2002
January 20th, 2009 by Karen
This was a prolific evening of writing…these have no titles and I have left them in order.
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New lines unfold daily
a crease here
a wrinkle there
a bruise, a scar
three gray hairs
I’ve noticed
have you?
There’s a little more
to go around these days
less sanity,
more hips.
Why does the mirror lie?
Doesn’t it know I’m still a lithe nineteen?
Have you noticed?
I have.
Now you slumber
snoring peacefully
resting from a hard day’s work
It’s only 9 pm
I think you’ve noticed.
I kiss your cheek,
you mumble incoherently.
I offer,
you shift, then snort.
I whisper,
you turn and face the wall.
You noticed.
I know.
_____________________________________________________________
My head pounds
cars thrum in the darkness
the aging pipes creak in the house
we try to make a home
Amont the clutter and kitch,
we make our attempt
to put things in their place,
but not everything has a place
so they cohabitate
my socks live on top of the dresser
instead of a drawer
your books migrate
changing resting places daily
the toys, the laundry, the filing
the junk we think we need to keep.
All moves constantly
until company comes.
Then everything congregates in closets
where they remain
and the cycle begins anew.
_____________________________________________________________
Do you know
about my headache?
about my worry?
my fears?
that I lie awake nightly
listening to you sleep
wishing, hoping beyond hope
that you would open your eyes
and speak with me?
Something more than perfunctory.
Ask me how my day was
if you can rub my back
or my feet
or kiss my temples
the way you used to;
make my heart soar.
Happiness isn’t supposed
to be fleeting or hard to obtain
it’s simply a thank you for the laundry
or a let me get that for you.
We share so much, yet I’m so alone
it seems like I must be doing
something wrong.
Otherwise, you’d notice
I’ve got the light on
and I’m writing poetry.
_____________________________________________________________
There was a time
in a galaxy far far away
in the not so distant past
where an emotional wreck
met a hopeless romantic.
With much tenderness and care
the courted…and loved.
Slowly a year has turned to ten and
the romantic became distant and aloof
and the wreck, the hopless romantic.
Now she plants flowers, only to watch them die
as the invisible ones do in the vase on the table
and blows kisses into the dark
to lie awake dreaming what ifs.
But in reality, what ifs never exist
and love is but a fleeting butterfly
replaced by heartburn and creaking knees.
So the romantic returns to the wreck
and pretends not to care that she cares
and each day’s dawn brings sorrow and heartbreak anew.
_____________________________________________________________
I’ve thought of you
often lately my friend
wondering how you fare
so very far from home
somewhere among the stars.
I hope you have good company
and that you have found what you are missing.
I have found what I was seeking
and lo, it slipped through my fingers like so many teardrops.
Come home,
I beg you.
Please
I am lonely without you
please.
I don’t know of anything else I have to say,
so I’ll kiss you goodnight and extinguish the light.
_____________________________________________________________
With my little blue pen
facing my blue wall
on a blue line
lying on a blue bed
in a very blue world
I try
no
attempt
to transfer my blues
to paper and out of my heart.
A task proving to be impossible.
_____________________________________________________________
You love me
I know, I do not doubt
I simply look into your eyes and know.
Lately though, your eyes are shut in sleep
and your glances are meaningless.
You provide for us and help out,
but there is something more I am am desperate for.
I was taught to do unto others, so I do unto you.
I do your laundry, and grocery shop, and garden and bank
and I tell you I love you
perhaps too much and too often
It has been so long,
I can’t remember when your lips did not reciprocate, but initiated.
I need to know
I am sad
I am unhappy
I am lonely
I need you
I am desperate.
_____________________________________________________________
I am contemplating
writing my next poem
on your shoulder
but maybe not
If you woke you may
not appreciate your status as a literary work
and the ink might come off
on the sheet, but not in the shower.
Perhaps, one day you will decorate
my body with love poetry
and verses of romance.
Until then,
the pen is on my dresser.
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