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angry night
wakes up seething
dark house remains
inky and snoring
for hours
I wait for the antidote
burning sun
scarlet sky

gutters

winter melts from the edges
of the gutters–where the leaves
clog them
never cleaned out
because no one thought
the winter would really come
no one saw the rains drenching our house
but they did–they soaked us, and now
I wake up, listening to the soft
drip drip drip
the birds playing in the puddle below

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I was the last hold out
a true believer
that love will last forever
I bet everything on you

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My memory has not been the same
since the meteor that struck us
dumb and deaf
bereft
so torn apart
we tell no one

On finding old cherry tomatoes in the back of the refrigerator

Why do I feel sad, pulling them from the back with some resistance from a bit of old green Jell-O gluing their container to the clear glass shelf

their red firm flesh when I bought them, cylindrical and perfect; I paid twice what they were worth in order to have that pop-into-my-mouth sweet satisfaction–how I don’t bite with teeth but compress between tongue and roof of the mouth until

pop

the juices wash over tongue and teeth and slide down the throat–

and now I see the puckered old skin and raisin-like rind, and I almost cry for what is lost what was and what could have been

in a salad, or sitting on a plate plump, ripe, and ready for tasting