Crimson's Lullaby

What a nice night
to fall asleep to cars in the distance
driving down the street
behind my house
it somehow sounds
like waves ebbing and flowing.
As the icy limbs of trees
clink and rattle into each other
with each breath of wind.
I lay in my warm bed
and let my eyelids grow heavy
wondering if there is anything
more like a lullaby to me.

Winter the ill-appeased Bride

We have snow in december this year,
surprising, I know.
It has come and gone
come and gone
and come again.
The last four days it has drifted down
in steady clusters of fluffy flakes.
Painting the scenery with dashes of white.
The evergreen limbs weighed down with its white mass,
the deciduous trees clothed once more
after letting their leaves fall long ago.
The air is crisp and fresh.
It should be such a pretty sight,
and it would be if I was not so far-sighted.
Everyone is enchanted with winter,
like husband with his new bride.
But it won't be long before
the incessant nagging,
of storms and squalls,
of shoveling and stripping off hot coats
that they will become despondent
and give up on her high maintenance,
they will long for spring and summer,
the loves of their youth.
The ones who required little,
the ones who only  punished occasionally
with a heat wave or flood.
They will wish their mouths had never mouthed,
"I wish it would snow already."  

Laughable Adult

I used to have this picture of myself
far away in the future
being this slender,
dominant woman,
wearing high heels
pencil skirts
getting my hair cut every six weeks
manicured nails.
When I was young
I thought no way would I grow up
to be the odd awkward one.
I should not have been surprised
that an odd awkward child
grew into an odd awkward adult,
no one else seems to be.
In some ways though,
I feel that if I trade my tromping boots
for heels,
my long hair
for a stylish bob
my worn jeans
for pencil skirts
I will not be the person on the outside
who reflects the person inside
I look awkward
because I am awkward,
I look ugly at times
because inside I am ugly
but it is ok
no one  is sitting in the judges panel,
I'm not walking down the runway
I'm lucky if someone recognizes me.
I have no regrets about not being
that sharp dominant woman
I'd rather be an approachable adventurer 

Broken Mug

Tonight I broke a mug
one that I have owned many years,
sipped from, and gulped from
coffee in the morning rush,
tea at night
at my desk.
Tonight it slipped
through my soapy fingers
and smashed upon the floor.
And I stood there in shock
it was a small loss.
I liked that mug,
liked--not loved.
There will always be others.
But it occurred to me,
as I swept shattered fragments
from the bleak tile floor
that were I to glue it back together,
were I to hunt out each shard
and position them just so,
it would never be whole again.
Never be able to hold my coffee,
never capture my tea
it would always be a leaky mug.
I used to think myself the same
even though all the pieces were there,
never would I be whole.
Never would I be able to do
what so many others could.
Until you took my hand
led me to a mirror
and showed one by one
the cracks you fused together,
until they became invisible.
How you gathered each piece,
that I thought was missing, broken, lost
and put it back in its place.
You showed me how you made me new.
How I could never hope to do it on my own
How you had been longing to fix me.
How you made me new.

December Scene

I glimpse the snow drift down
illumined in the light of a streetlamp
while everyone sleeps on a cold december eve
realizing that this scene is like the mortar
which holds together precious moments;
the ones which are supposed
to make us believe once more
in the dreams of childhood.
It is like a scene from a fairy tale
and although I may want to believe once more
my heart has run out of the magic
which it was supposed to sense back then.
And alas here in this moment,
standing beside the Christmas tree
I feel it grow colder still.

Bitter Waters

I would have never thought
that I could be this sensitive
this picky
this messy.
That a certain smell or sight
could make me fall apart.
I cannot even begin
to express this guilt
this weight
this heaviness
because I know what I'm destroying:
it was what I coveted most.
But hey,
if I can't have it why should anyone.
Why can't I just be happy for you
I don't know.
I just don't know
where this spring of bitter waters
flows from within me
I wish I could stop it up
and make the out pouring cease
for your sakes at least.
But I cannot.
I'm sorry I've tainted your well
with my own poison
It was never my intention
but I can't wipe the blood from my hands
I can never claim innocence.