Month: March 2018

El largo invierna acaba

~ Pleasant Street ~ 8 Comments

Attempting to leave behind all of it
the anger and the strife
the inability to forgive–
I bathe and put on something new
I purge my body of everything toxic

How do we live as if the winter was not?
how do I go on pretending we are not bruised–
so I go, so I sear with fire,
I cauterize the wounds
so I go, so I remember
how to let go of the list of wrongs

Without letting go of the wonder, the miracle
as Spring takes over my house,
as love fills the empty heart chambers
still sore
and I weep for what is lost–this day

I tell you, this day is for weeping
for what could’ve, should’ve, and
would have been
without the despicable, with
something more noble
than good intentions

But tomorrow, tomorrow
the weeping will be put away, and
life allowed to flourish, love allowed to nourish–
tomorrow will be today, the anger swept up
and tucked away, put in the bin for the burning
the burning of the last remains of winter

Monday, Monday (can’t trust that day)

~ Pleasant Street ~ 10 Comments

I don’t typically have bad Mondays. To me Mondays have always been a sort of do-over for me, a fresh start to things that are best left to last week. Today felt like all those Mondays. The good news is I did not die when my husband drove nearly 50 in a 30 in the rain in anger when I made him late. In all fairness, we both set our alarm clocks wrong. He set his for Sunday and I set mine for p.m. But my body always wakes me up anyway. So I really have no excuse as I was up in plenty of time but was still eating my (oh so delicious) poppy seed bagel ten minutes before we had to leave. No I was not dressed yet either. So the anger was justified, but I didn’t want to die for it.

The other good news is that we don’t have bad brakes. In the process of loading himself into the car he shifted the emergency brake with his water bottle so the brake light came on. So our little detour to stop and check the brake fluid was not my fault, a minor point at such a moment, but since we are talking, I thought I’d throw myself on the mercy of the court.

This is where my day started to get better.

Continue reading “Monday, Monday (can’t trust that day)” →

At my window

~ Pleasant Street ~ 7 Comments

I am waiting for the sun to come up
impatient–loving my night–but
also missing the sun–
(don’t tell the other mushrooms)
the memory of that warmth
on my skin on my body on my face
shining and new–every morning
a new start–to bulldoze
the old foul-ups

A car goes by and I wonder
where he is going
if the scent of my coffee
wafts into his window
and he wishes he were still
breakfasting reading plotting–
still–I’ll be busy soon–after
this moment
when the sun first burns
the surface of the lake