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It just takes a few of your words on a screen
and a few minutes in a flowery room
and a few vivid imaginations
to bring me to you.

Back at it

There have been midnights sobbing hunched over the bathroom sink,

afternoons of holding back tears at the office,

evenings in bed shaking while surrounded by old photos,
moments in rehearsal that give pause  (Hamlet: “I did love you once…I lov’d you not.”),
times when self-sabotage reigned supreme.
There has been a heart 
that has been broken too many times
and continues to love and love and love.

H

If I am a deer, like you say I am,
I am the kind accustomed
to being fed by humans.
They find me amusing
before they ruin my bed and leave.
When tourist season is over,
I pick at my own skin in their place
and wait for the cycle to repeat itself.

You say you are a lion,
but I’ve never been close
to your kind before.
It is easy to bound through my forests
even in the dark.
The savanna is another story,
and there I am all alone.

How would a lion and a deer meet anyway?
We teeter together near the line
of too much and not enough.
Loss holds me
back behind the white pines and hemlocks.
Something I can’t name
keeps you under the acacia trees.

I have seen the tallest waterfall and the oldest stand of white pines and hemlocks in Maryland.
(I have loved the waterfalls and the the pines and the hemlocks.)
I have chased chipmunks and a mother turkey chirping to her babies.
(I have loved the chipmunks and the mother turkey and her babies.)
I have floated in the north branch of Potomac River.
(I have loved the Potomac.)

I have walked along mossy stones lining the trails.
(I have opened my heart to the mossy stones and the trails.)
I have splashed in still pools in the rivers.
(I have fallen head over heels for the still pools.)
I have hiked to the tops of mountains.
(I have written romantic sonnets for the mountains.)
I have been sheltered by the cover of the forest.
(I have made a lifetime commitment to the forest.)

3/3/2015

I sit with amazement at this:

I am built exactly for this world.

Tonight I’m undressing for you.
The hot stage lights will blind me and flood my eyes with tears.
I will stop seeing you, instead feeling you from afar through vibrating strings and whispering voices of my memory.
It turns out I love love, especially when it haunts me, the most clarity with Ophelia on my tongue –
“Fare you well, my dove!”
Such a young girl on display once again. Twenty-seven and: “Lord, we know what we are, but we know not what we may be.”
Today – a wretched heart.
Tomorrow – doubt thou the stars are fire.

Tonight, the hot stage lights will hide you from my sight, but you will see all my trembling,
all my doubts and failings,
all my desperate attempts to cling to you,
all my fragile thoughts for a beloved,
all the moments I recognize myself and then, just as suddenly, forget,
all the daily drownings leading up to the last one.

For forty minutes tonight,
I will grasp for hints of my unveiling in tomorrow and the next,
hold her and you close,
find myself in a violent swirling river with the columbines and the violets.

Two banana bread beers,
and I’m drunk and talking like Shakespeare.
Closing my eyes on the metro train,
letting it rock me to sleep.

Two banana bread beers,
and I’ve finished a week full of loneliness.
Closing my eyes on the metro train,
knowing exactly where I am.

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