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Don’t let the birds be liars
chirping to me
of fancy, and
Oh, I do love (does anyone
still believe in)
stardust
my mind wandering
in this soft morning moment
treasured for its ease

Because joy helps you to swallow

Each day my resolve weakens
under a burden of years
with one truth to be self-evident
that we did not
think everything through

I sweep fetid memory
under his favourite chair, with
each disappointment
relegated to the pantry
behind the oatmeal

I find myself leaving room
for new, sweeter moments
when I am kinder
and remember smiles

Reflections of suns risen and set
and each child’s eyes
and even the mundane, nameless
sudden joys


like that time
he left his cup of tea
atop the car
and we laughed

Again? (so many Mondays)

Is this Monday again? I wasn’t looking. I wasn’t paying attention. I walked right into it, writing while walking, and sulking while my feet were still moving, and she was above me, in thin air.

I ordered roses for her from the florist. They sent her lilies. How did they know? Were they looking through my window when my face pinched in pain? Did they read my letters and follow my halting steps?

I wish this wasn’t a true story. I wish it was a horror that people read, dog-earing the pages to the ghastly parts they want to show their partners later. I wish it was fiction in the purest sense

At what point did I understand that there was hope? What was elusive, dodging me, and mocking me, is at arm’s length. That is a good deal closer than in my youth, giving up the dreams for thralldom.

Pleasure is fleeting. But it returns, I know it, somewhere around Thursday of the month, a refreshing gust in the middle of swelter.

It is Monday: Oops, I did it, again

• I found a yellowed bag of cut kale that I left too long in the fridge.
• I made a big lasagne and lost none of that because I froze squares of the leftovers.
• I guess the kale didn’t score the big priority points.
• I washed it and found no mold, but I did find a snail.
• He will be happier in the dumpster than in my refrigerator.
• I took out the worst bits and washed it lots.
• We can eat about half of it, but I doubt it rates high on the nutrition scale.

Monday random–pasta and insomnia

• I am starting this just past midnight, so technically it is Monday already but it feels like Sunday.
• I am exhausted but my brain is still active, and frankly I would rather have four or five solid hours of sleep, uninterrupted, then 8 with this up/down/up/down/night wandering thing I am doing.
• My doctor might disagree.
• I lost a friend this week, and it was one of those friendships we call ”complicated’.
• Definitely a friend, but we wasted some time in silence for many months.
• So much wasted time. When will I learn?
• Living as if I have all the time in the world.