Until It Fits...

   

The Goddess of Wisdom-also needs revision

The goddess of wisdom brushes soft, waved strands from her shoulder

as she walks across the shoreline.

The rain whistles slightly as it meets the wind, before the drops mesh with the ocean,

whispering words you have never heard before, but you think, maybe one day you could get to know them.

A white lily is tucked behind the goddess' left ear, as 

garlands of irises trail behind her.

She is dressed in pure white as she approaches you,

the sand between her toes as she glides out of the fog.

Her lips pursed just slightly, you notice,

as if she knows something you don't.

You shudder, just barely, in awe. 

Although you'd like to think of home as a place to lay your head,

sometimes its the discomfort in not knowing exactly what

that is the most breathtaking.

The Doubt I Never Wished For

This is the doubt I never wished for,

and swore I'd never consider.

The steadfast believer, I came to your door

with home-cooked meals in spotless tupperware

and pin-straight blonde hair. Not a fault or folly

could be found in 

Me, the pinnacle of trying for permanence.

I waited for the reciprocation, doe-eyed,

ears perked. My patience would be the death of me.

Your flat response turned my heart to tar

with each and every one-word answer.

Now, chivalry's absence seems more obvious

and tomorrow's infatuation ceases to be a promise.

Once there was an undeniable pull,

 a gravity which drew me to your hand, to your lips,

but as time passed, the force lost its poignance,

and now--

The mature thing to ask is,

Is love just a combination of chemistry and convenience?

As much as I long to believe that this longstanding fortress,

said to make life worth its salt

is all fate and no coincidence,

I suddenly realize with age that I'm no good to my suitors unless I'm convenient, and they're not worth it to me unless they're persistent, romantic, fuel for my ego.

And now that I found this out for myself,

Love becomes a beast that has no feeling behind it.

It is just a matter of initial attraction which eventually yields to the selfishness of both parties. 

Plummeting...(to be revised)

I was young, probably nine years old. I was ice skating for the first time. With my brand new, stiff white ice skates, I cautiously stepped onto the ice with my dad. We did a few laps with me holding onto the side. After a few minutes of warming up, my dad started to create more distance between us. It was like teaching an infant to walk, almost. My mission was to skate just far enough to reach him, so I could grab onto his arm before stumbling. After he had skated the appropriate distance, I let go of the wall with the intentions of getting to him on my own. Two boys, a little bit older than I was--probably twelve or thirteen--skated by me, clearly advanced skaters. Just as they passed, I lost my balance. My skates skidded out from under me, and before I knew it, I was sprawled out on the ice. I sat there for a few seconds, thinking about what the best way to proceed was. Suddenly, a hand appeared, as if sent from the heavens. It was the hand of one of the boys who had just passed me. In that fateful moment, his blonde hair appeared to have a golden halo. His blue eyes cut into my very soul. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I can't remember what I said--I can only hope I managed to get out a "yes" or maybe even a head nod. But I do remember that mystical aura the boy took on as he helped me up after my embarrassing fall. It is times like those when a female realizes how influential the politeness of a man can be. This idea of chivalry--men looking out for women out of sheer respect and politeness--can be so refreshing, regardless of how independent the woman is, or her ability to fend for herself.

peace and sanity

   

I cannot write without it.

The Trees That Reached for Him

The reservoir is overcast, 

a tinge of grey clouding yesterday's bursting blues and whites. 

A boy I used to know sits on a fallen tree limb. 

His rubber soled shoes are wet and resisting the rocky sand. 

Tall, erratic trees, who know not which way to grow, 

are dispersed all around him, screaming his name. 

The birds are not out today. 

The sun is hiding, leaving a roundish, burning hole in the sky above. 

The boy seems preoccupied, he does not yet know of my presence. 

But wait--he rises and looks at me, as though possessed, holding a steady glance--he heads spellbound towards me. 

The wispy trees all around look like they are calling for him. 

His warm brown eyes are suddenly dressed in black circles. 

His teeth seem more jagged to me now that he is in full focus. 

His awkward lankiness is something I am suddenly embarrassed by. 

I remember taking off my shoes and walking on this sand, 

impervious to the harshness of the rocks. 

In my best dress, I stood strong; believing, overzealous. 

I ate every word he handfed me--it all went down so easily, that it must have been true. 

The muggy water washed up to my feet, 

kissing my toes, distracting me from the sting that must have been there all along,

that I do not ever remember recognizing. 

My mother said, "it's nobody's fault," fighting to be audible between my desperate sobs. 

I am not enough to bring him back again.

photo taken circa 2007

Red, Sweet Love

red lace, cherry lips,

the sweetness of 

my gentle kiss--

my heart, I can give, 

only to him.

his chest throbbing, 

hands pervading my quiet body,

a little unsure, I am, but finding

my way of

executing movements

with precision,

conviction.

breathing, 

a steady culmination of holding,

and holding back.

waiting for the right moment

and the right way

to touch

to feel the most

ecstasy.

fingers through your hair,

pulling, slightly.

soft but steady, confident

is how I hold you,

is my gaze,

is the way we find each other.

hands tremble slightly,

from the glory of glorifying 

the bodies--

from the out of bodied-ness 

the convergence

of us 

creates.

is it human nature,

to play up the touchable,

to tease with the porcelain skin,

the silhouette of someone like me,

the waves that frame my face--

the understated ways I secretly recognize I have

of making you eager?

candles lit,

I bite my lip, your lip,

the fuel to the fire

which keeps us guessing,

and entwines us for a little while.