(Something With No Ending)

I have a recipe for the perfect relationship:
the miserable reality that I make it so hard for everyone
to love me that when I die
all of my children and spouses will be terrified
of not making it in time to reconcile:
“What if she dies and we never said ‘I love you?’”
I like blueberry pies, peach pies, strawberry pies.

Aren’t mothers always supposed to say I love you?
and I love chocolate chip cookies,
chocolate crinkles, snicker doodles
and gingerbread all year round.

Everyone at arm’s length, is my motto.
Sometimes my arms aren’t long enough.
Oh, and cobblers. Peach cobbler,
apple cobbler, and blackberry cobbler.

Or they’re longer than what I want them to be,
But I can’t shrink them into my body
with my husband and children in my clutches.
Candies are delicious!
Butter toffee, caramel peanut bars, mint and chocolate bites!

So many when I die I won’t be so lonely.
My bedside will be as busy as the fairgrounds,
Speaking of which!
I love frying funnel cakes and battering oreos.

I love setting the oven to 325 degrees or 450.
And I have sweated over this heat for so long.
So that when I die and they rush to my side,
I can finally tell my secret,
when I’m so lonely that my nose bleeds
because my heart can sustain the pressure,
I bake sweet desserts and dream of the glowing awe in their eyes
as I gently place the plate in front of them.
and secretly, I set the table.
and secretly, I wait for the doorbell to ring.

But I always put the dishes away,
and the chimes are always still,
and the desserts always fill my trashcan.

.....

The Track That Skips

But he told,
he told,
he told,
he told,
me so.
Background noise
telling me about your weekend
white noise, while in foreground
I ask, When did I start hating you?
But he told,
he told,
he told,
he told
me it’s normal.
And I have to believe,
believe you,
believe you,
because I love you
when I am not dreaming of anywhere else
but here.

Going Through It Alone

You said you felt strange on the drive home,
Rushed in the front door and into the bathroom,
Horrified to find your left eye crawling in to your hairline.
These are the pictures of you before you changed
The light behind you settled gently on your shoulders
Like dust while you cozied up to your son
And a motionless laugh playing: this was your defining moment.
Here you are, grasping the mirror while features use talons to crawl
Twisting skin, slacking one side of the mouth,
a storm cloud under the right eye.
We were all in the other room, weren’t we?
We were looking at pictures when we heard your second to last breath,
And it was me who said, “Did someone just hear that?
It sounded like paper being ripped in half.”

Solice

I hear sirens at night, from beginning to end. And nothing can cover that scream except searching the shadows played on my walls--pretending to be in the presence of what should be here with me, but isn't.

Not All Darkness is Terrifying

It wasn't until we kissed
when the inner most part of your bottom lip
started to kiss me back
and it felt brand new--after kissing you thirty times a day
two hundred and ten times a week
minus a few months here and there

it was our brand new kiss tonight
that made me realize
not all darkness is terrifying

Mixed with the fact that my brain,
racing, trying to flee the scene to collect my pulse
i stepped shin deep in a rain puddle
and stood there thinking,

"This is what I do now.
I step in the world's largest rain puddle,
and I stay silent. Because there is a warm
kiss on my forehead, just below my hairline
telling me it's okay to be silent sometimes."

Already Dark Room

Yes--there is something I remember
about family.

Overhead lights burn out and lightbulbs
are not replaced for months.
The one who lives in this room rallies
her army of little lamps;
four, five of them to create a glow
big enough to justify
the loss of an overhead light.
It's almost indecipherably different, except...

Still, months later--
upon entering the room, the switch is flipped up
upon exiting the room, the switch is flipped down.

Because we can still touch our beating hearts,
we continue to dream of our family's ghosts;
dress our dinner tables for six memories
and pretend it's a celebration;

after dinner,
the obviously empty plates are too painful,
the haunting has vanished--but if you look,
I'm still in the doorway.

It's not until you recognize
the dim in the corner of the room
that you remember how bright
you felt at one time.