Cut up

You must have thought
that I was made of lead;
thought that my skin was
thick leather,
worn by weathering storms
so much stronger
than any you could conjure.
You thought you could
dash me against the sharp
cliffs of the shore,
and I would not bleed.
You thought my armor
would protect me from
the blade of your knife
as you pushed it into my stomach.
You ought to know
that this strength is just a rouse;
I am not made of lead
or impenetrable leather;
more like wood that has been
worn away by the storms past.
I am easily cut by rocks and blades
I merely retreat to lick my wounds
in solitude.
And yet you cannot understand
why I walk with a limp,
why I wince in pain;
are you so blind?

Icy

The snow falls again
in thick clusters
of delicate flakes
elegantly painting
the limbs of trees
as I stand in
the kitchen
in the grey
afternoon light
wondering if
the warmth
will ever come back
to my breath.

Days of our Youth

It seems only yesterday
we used to hold hands
laughter and sunshine
painted on our faces
stained with juice
and fresh with innocence.
When things were simpler
we never questioned
our immortality
or if the world
was bigger than our street.
We ran together,
the wind at our backs
and rolled in the splendor
of clover and green grass.
Picked dandelions for our mothers
breathed greedy gulps
of fresh air and youth.
It seems only yesterday
and yet so far away.
As we remember how the sun went down
and we saw the first glimpses
of darkness.
It started so subtle
like a vine creeping up a building.
And we realized,
that there were cloudy days
sometimes so dark
we wondered if our eyes were even open,
as we blinked through it all
And we turn around to realize
that our home has been sold
all there is a house now.
The world seems so much bigger
as we rub our eyes at sky scrappers.
And loses its charm with insurance payments;
laundry, gasoline, failure, broken hearts.
Things will never be
what they once were
when we were innocent. 

Mistaken

What have I gotten myself into
this time.
It seems what I thought
I wanted
I needed
I couldn't survive without
is not
any of the above.

Return to Simplicity

I long for things unattainable.
I miss things that no longer exist,
places I can never return to
and expect them to be the same.
My old bed, in the corner
under the little mermaid poster.
Feeling so safe under those blankets
falling asleep with a book on my chest
the omnious yellow glow
of my old lamp on the ceiling.
I wish to speak with  friends
who are so long gone,
not dead,
just no longer the caterpillars
they once were
now a butterfly,
 and it's hard to believe
they are even remotely similar.

Lowbank

I sit here
in my home between homes
on a winter's white afternoon
in the place in between dependency and adulthood
 wishing I could  press pause.
On this moment to catch my breath.
It seems like everything happens
in the twinkling of an eye
and yet,
this life is the longest race we'll ever run.
It is hard to believe that I'll never be able
to come back here again.
I cannot help but feel loss
of something I have not yet lost.
This little apartment,
the warmest home I have known.
And my room the kindest nights
I have been allowed.
I watch the flakes drift down
and wonder where I'll be
for the first snow.

Passed

After the storm it seems too peaceful

like there is not sound any more

as if when the winds blew

and the thunder rolled

our ears became deaf

and in the cold light 

we stand there in silence--

so sterile and sharp

unable to hear the birds singing

or the wind whistling,

unable to carry on. 

Alice in Winter

Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty?
How nice and soft it sounds!
Just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside.
I wonder if the snow LOVES the trees and fields,
that it kisses them so gently?
And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt;
and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again."
And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty,
they dress themselves all in green, and dance about—whenever the wind blows—oh,
that's very pretty!' cried Alice,
dropping the ball of worsted to clap her hands.
'And I do so WISH it was true!
I'm sure the woods look sleepy in the autumn,
when the leaves are getting brown.

Lewis Carroll Through the Looking Glass

Winters Ago

The snow is falling down
in fat clusters of flakes
upon the white ground.
It covers our footprints
from where I snuck out my window
in the cold pale moonlight
and we walked together
out into the wild frontiers
of winter nights' oblivion.
It seems so long ago,
our tracks are covered now
only you and I recall
the paths we made.
Yet still, if I were to tread
on those places
where the snow was packed
from our thick boots
I may slip on the ice we created. 

Winter's Purpose

The snow has fallen again
covering everything in sheets of white,
cleansing dirty snowbanks
and concealing black ice.
Like silence smothering
hot emotions, letting them  wash away
to white noise in the background.
Maybe we just need a good sleep
to appreciate all we have.
Perhaps that's winter's purpose
to cover us
to clean us
to cool us
and to give us rest
To remind us of all we have to be thankful for
as we drift through the seasons
we learn to love spring again.

January Woes

Winter can seem so grey at times

like the apocalypse has happened

and no one even bothered to notice

somehow time marches on.

As I walk sliding on icy streets

the snow drifting down like ashes, 

the snowbanks are dirty in the city

everything seems to be a shade

except the tints of rose

in our cheeks

and our red mittens 

as we trudge on and watch our breath

float away down the boulevard.