Bus Stop.

When I saw you step onto the platform with the sunlight bright behind you , I remembered all those times I'd had to leave. Leave and miss you on a Sunday afternoon. I snuck up behind you and smiled wide; my pulse quickened and my heart swelled.You frowned and leaned in to read the schedule, unaware of my presence so close behind. I pounced and you started, turned and smiled. You drew me into your arms on that platform and kissed me slowly...I'd never been happier.

The Fear

i am scared.
some days i am so scared that i feel i must smell of it,
smell of that cloying decay, of those near misses and dead things that cling to your neck.

it coils around my veins and seeps through my skin, taints the air i'm breathing in.
it pours out through my eyes.
it is the beast asleep in my belly that sucks and drains and snatches away.

i am changed.
when it wakes its jaws are wide enough to swallow me whole,
down the hatch in one go.
body snatched and it'll be ages before they know.

this clutching dread, it steals me away from myself.
kind words fall on deaf ears and the light that was close is no longer that near.
it whispers to me, "They won't find you here in a million years."

i am lost.
even when i'm sitting so close i can feel the heat from your skin
nothing has ever felt further away.

it pins me down and wraps around,
it talks through my mouth and all i can do is watch and pray.

i am hopeful
that i will be wrenched from this pit.
that when you smile i will believe you, because i know you mean it.

now you know.

Sunday Afternoon

It all looks dry and bland, like bread that's just going stale.
Like the crossroad is the only one in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere.
Dusty old TV show on mute.

The mountains look further away than usual, even painted.
Like those paintings that people's Oumas had when we were younger.
Musty rooms with drawn curtains and wooden kists.

I slow my walk to drink it in.
My shadow is longer and thinner than me against the yellowing light.

I turn the corner and wet my lips to whistle at the boy in the grey sweats.
I'm in for the afternoon.

Daybreak on a Black Couch

In the early morning
When I am alone with the murmurs of waking neighbors,
The cold sky
And the electric buzz from the kitchen,
I sit quietly.
I take it all in.

You are sleeping in the next room, you stir as the day breaks.

I count my blessings,
Wipe my eyes
And gladly begin again.

Night in the Pines

Two girls sit on a balcony and watch the city sky flame in the distance.
Smoke ghosts down the wind and they talk of past and pattern,
cause and action.
Brief reprieve from grind and grief.
They return to light and sound both seeing and knowing
But knowing isn't doing.

Balcony.

Nights like these, when the sun has not yet set
and the salt still lingers on your lips.
Nights when the mist dances down the river and tumbles up the banks
and you're safe in someone else's sweater.
Nights when the covers feel good, but they could feel better.
You know that you've stepped over the threshold.

Nights like those when the arid air tightens the skin on your lips.
When the breeze shimmies up your legs with torn nails.
When you see that free isn't what it used to be
and safe is bigger and wider and better
and you don't judge a word by it's letters.
You know that out means through.

With cracked old threshold left behind,
with heart in flux to unbend mind,
with feet unsure but finding true
you'll be amazed before you're through.

Until the Day is Done

Every evening at around a quarter past 6 I take this walk...a little constitutional, if you will.

Through the cooling air, as the world shifts gear and the candyfloss clouds troop across the vanilla sky in their puffed up little flocks. Sometimes their bellies are heavy with rain, sometimes they're blushing rosy in the sun's last embrace.

When the song in my ears rolls to a stop, the wind whistles around my neck and the vast expanse above stares down...and I feel like a dwarf and a giant at the same time.

The hills of the town start to light up, eager for the night to come. The leaves and the long grass dance and laugh in the breeze and my shoulders feel the fingers of the evening starting to press into my skin.

But I don't leave; I like to stay until I've squeezed every last drop out of the day, until I've devoured every morsel hanging above me.

I like to stay until the day is done and the moon breathes again.