Suddenly No

And suddenly I feel like no.

The pain is the same

The pain that no brings

At our pinnacle and I just

Want to let go.

So relaxed around you and

So up tight.

How can up be wrong and right?

I’m tired of poetry damn it

And I want to write

On solid ground.  I want to write

Novels and flash fiction and I want

All men to drown.

You are something I wanted for so

So long

And now, I still want -

But suddenly I feel like NO.

And so, no.

I write what I see

And what I see is not me

But you and so no.

Now I see,

Deep snow lace

From steel water sky

Inspiration is best spent

Alone.

In The Time

In the space of time it takes to die

I awake

Not to the jangle of ice breaking

But to you breaking and not knowing.

Smile and wave now, they are being

Well taken care of, just down the road.

Return to your sturdy doorframe.

How does the crow grasp the branch?

The branch, the highest in the hickory,

How does the common crow stand vertical,

While the branches of the tree dance in the

High wind?

And in the time it take to die

I awake.

The cawing, the constant, raucous cawing,

An evil sound to your fleshy ears, a shiver

That secrets a consternate smile.

Years of mankind, countless years cause

The shiver and the smile, generations of superstition

And at last you recognize the folly.

There is no warning,  just cawing from the dark bird.

Common is the crow.

And on the ground,  in the time it takes to perish

The oak tree leaves, brown and brittle swirl

And refuse to decompose  

And now I am

Awake

Evolved as you directed, a superstition,

A dream of generations that is no longer

Needed as man has reached the moon

Split the atom and disproved religion.

I walk, wave away the common black bird

And its warning

And follow you in

In the time it takes to die.

Distant Sun

And to be kissed

To be opened and opened for.

But because it was us, our minds engaged

Beyond the weak-kneed feeling

Beyond the bright light beneath our closed eyes,

Beyond the feel of hand to body

And the swirl of fingertips to skin

Our minds engaged -

Don’t hide, don’t hide from this kiss.

Don’t say no and mean yes, don’t play coy, don’t blunder ahead.

Sit still and wait.

Waiting is the reward for a kiss happening.

The flower within the cold grip of April but opened by a direct ray

From the far too distant but evident sun.

We, us, too weary with death and threat to allow

Our minds to stop thinking of one another.

A kiss, a rose in fragrance to an alter.

Not in defiance, not to tragic circumstance

But to each other.

When the World Ends

And because the world is ending

I’d like to be with you.

It does hurt just a little

Not for you or for me

But for my son.

And because I see the hurt

In your eyes when I mention

My son, I’ll love you forever.

Why does the world have to end so?

No, love I’m too jaded to be a

Humanist, too Christian to be

Religious as conceited as that sounds,

Too female to ignore my attraction

To you and so now too in love

Not to lament the world that

Ignores the possibility of

How you make me want you.

It’s sort of odd some how

The craving that comforts

And the longing that calms

The only regret is my son

As I’ve said, the want to

See him in love.

But the world is too full of advice

To the likes of us

But no matter love, they can’t take

Our shared and honest look

When the world ends.

So…How Am I?

I’m slowing down

The frenzy is over

And I still don’t trust you

As far as I can throw you.

Yeah, you love me,

So what.

How am I?

I’m disturbed, not mental

Maybe metal

But not crazy, no thanks to you.

How am I, you ask.

I’m in love with you and

Wishing suddenly I wasn’t.

That’s the 21st century for you

In love and hating it because

What’s the motive?

Am I that second invite that

You kept by?  Am I that quiet

Evening you thought would do

If the wild life passed you by?

So now tell me, how am I?

I’ll tell you, actually

I’m fine without you.

Really I’m fine.  I’m good with the books

And the pen and the page and the

Crochet hook, I’m good.

I’m good with the candle flame and the

Cat and the dog and the moaning

Of the wind, I’m good.  I’m better

With your soft, tired, long kiss but

I’m good.

How are you?

Comfortable

And for some reason today, I stopped.

I stopped and decided to shower

And be grateful.

I stood beneath the hot water

I offered up my soap like

A woman giving all to

A stone cold deity,

But I was grateful.

I worked my shoulder length hair

Into a soft thick lather

Felt the soap slide down my body

And when I could not recognize the walls

Around me for steam

I was grateful.

And today you could feel

That I had stopped.

Our bedroom door was shut and

The cool sheets exposed.

You were there heavy and sleepy

And new and old and comfortable

To me

And I was grateful.

No Matter What…There is Writing

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Honesty

So I met this guy, and yeah, I know what you are thinking – oh no another loser but he’s not, because he really doesn’t want a damn thing to do with me.

Yeah, it is almost unbearable because he is nice and real honest.  That is hard to do now a days, but it is true, he constantly lets me down easy.

I’m a little confused sometimes because he is so nice but I know, deep down that he doesn’t want me.  He is older and I came on to him because he is so hot and keeps his beard perfectly trimmed and his hands –they’re beautiful.  You know the type – well put together and even if his shirt is buttoned to the very top, he looks good.

He went out to the mountains, I don’t know which, I know they were here in the United States.  He went out there and tried to call me but the connection was too messed up and we couldn’t keep the call going.  I didn’t care because, it was just the thought that he tried.  He just wanted to talk.

So he called later and we talked.  We talked about his brother and where he was staying, and I really think he wants to stay out there.  I think he should go, just make a clean break of it and go.  Don’t worry about anyone, especially me, because he has been real honest with me.  Real honest.

One night, I couldn’t get to the phone so he left a message, nothing much just a hello but I saved it and listen to it before I go to bed.  Pathetic and I’d be embarrassed if he knew, that would make him uncomfortable.

He said I made him uncomfortable.  He said that to me once.  I actually blushed and he kind of laughed.  He wouldn’t say anymore but I wanted him to.  I’m letting my hair grow and spent a lot of money getting the blonde highlights my sister- in-law put in taken out of my hair.  He said it made me look pretty, not so made up.

He said too, that I shouldn’t wear my shirts so tight, so I don’t.

We meet for lunch every once in a while.  I don’t call him, I can’t bring myself to do that, he calls me.  I think he would be really annoyed if I called him.  What if he were in a meeting or with his wife?  So I don’t call.

He tells me about the church he goes to and what he is involved in there but says straight out he doesn’t like it much.  He doesn’t mind the priest so much because she doesn’t go on and on about the Jesus thing but has really nice homilies.  But his vestry duties are a drag and the socializing is a joke because everyone just bitches about the generational welfare lines.

I don’t know much about that but I do appreciate his honesty.

 

Sandra K Woodiwiss © 2012

From “It Never Rains.”

War Memorial

So, as a little girl, I would play, pretend. Yeah that’s it, just pretend.  I dreamed of weird and wonderful scenarios that involved- me just me and a grateful world. Today in my ripe old age I still play pretend.

I pretend you are around.  Here is how it goes:

I get up in the morning before you.  I’m the morning person and you are not.  I like to get up, make coffee, let the dog out, feed the cat.  You really don’t like breakfast, I know, but I boil us an egg and make some toast.  While puttering around in the kitchen, I snatch a few lines of your poetry or short story that you worked on the night before.

Then I hear you upstairs.  Your slow tread to the toilet, the shower, I smile knowing you are thinking you really hate the new tile.

On a Saturday our breakfast is a little more elaborate and you won’t shave.  I like the small stubble on your face.  A little rough but you are careful with me, even at moments I really don’t want you to be.

On Sunday, of course, we are in a rush.  Church, you know, and then the kids come home.  The kids, yeah, we have a few.

They’re fine, our kids.  Yeah they gave us some grief but they turned out just fine.  I know we nearly didn’t make it a few times.  My floods of tears would just annoyed you (still do) but kids are kids, why get so upset?  But your storming out would only bring you drifting back.  While you were gone I went through every line we would speak on your return” this time we are done you and I.”  Done! I was tired of your tantrums and the kids were too.

But of course, the tired look, the hands through your hair, the “I’m sorry,” on your lips and all of my well made plans without you disappeared.

So, this is how our life goes and went.  No prizes, no discoveries, no adventures.  The mortgage paid on time and well within our means – of that you made sure.  My knitting in the corner of our living room that you laugh at – so much like my Mother.  Damn you, but I duck my head and smile, nothing wrong with my Mother.

But then I remember, I simply pretend.  There is no mortgage, no kids, no fights but I do knit at night.  I knit the prayer shawls for those who have a life; the weaving together, the texture, the play of color.

I do pretend as I knit, your purple heart, forty years framed upon my hearth and your beautiful name carved in black stone for a nation to forget, at least reminds me of what we have missed.

 

 

 

Sandra K Woodiwiss © 2012

From “It Never Rains.”

Torture

I work my knees deep into the gravel

Lowering my spine to ground level

Ovations of applause inside my head

Violin solo pitching a note nearly beyond recognition

Everyone averts their faces from my blood stained eyes

Yet whisper disbelief at what they won’t see

Ogling their own distant desire

Unspoken that we see each other’s self-denied wants.

I Won’t say it.

 

Sandra K Woodiwiss © 2012

From “It Never Rains.”