Tuesday, April 19, 2011


When the sun is uninhibitedly glaring down from a cloudless sky,
And the tinkling of laughter dances off of my ears like butterfly wings,
My regret fades as quickly as the most iridescent of bubbles.
Easily forgotten, and in its place, a warm syrupy mixture of content and satisfaction.
Yet, on a precipice, my life balances,
Haphazardly dangling between happy and unhappy, and, right and wrong,
At any moment, the tide seemingly turns,
And the clear horizon is held hostage by thick, choking, ominous clouds.
And regret and false steps come rushing by like overflowing river banks.
Washing away all that is good,
Leaving only the remnants of sediment and afterthoughts.
Yet I stand by and wait for the return of sun-filled skies, clear horizons, laughter, and smiles,
Because there is no time to sleep with regret.
April 2011

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


Your beautiful heart, under no direct command from anything but God’s imprint,
Began to beat so soon after you inhabited her womb,
The two unmistakable, indelible pink lines still fresh and wet with disbelief,
Your cells, and your sheer will to thrive, was apparent, intent on a path to divide and bloom

Yet, dear child, you cannot select and choose your womb,
For this mother, who’s life is full of despair, self-centeredness, or uncertainty,
Or a father she knows will habitually be absent, and never care--
I’m sorry--for you, there is no space or room.

(Maybe next time).

If you should be so blessed, maybe next time, you’ll receive a mother that loves you immediately, unlike another, 
And who’d know from the precious moment of your miraculous conception
That your life would yield the utmost joyful reception.

Or that you’d bestow the gift of life 
for one of the millions of women,
That spend every sleepy morning 
with a thermometer in her mouth, faithfully temping,

Charting monthly,
and counting all of her fertility signs,
Only to be crushed by her Reproductive Endocrinologist’s diagnosis
That she may never hear the sweet melody of her own baby’s coos and cries.

Little embryo, I grant you the fortitude to thrive,
To implant your loving parasitic being on the inside of a warm, inviting uterus that welcomes you,
And then the ability to continually divide and survive.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

A Woman's Perspective

Here you come, home
After a long day gone,
Breaking your back to support our family,
But why don’t you see what's mortally wrong?
You walk in with barely a grin,
Bitching and complaining about how the world’s done you in,
But you can’t see you’ve got your strongest champion
by your side
--and your kids, too.
Yet, you cast us aside, failing to see my smile falter,
Then slide,
Into a frown so deep,
I start slamming cabinet doors,
Barely uttering a peep
--and all you askin’ it to fucking watch TV??
Where’s my kiss??
My hug?
I remember when it was important to you to show me love
when you came home.
But those days have been long gone.
You claim you go the extra mile to make me smile….
What extra mile?
Because you installed some brand new kitchen tile??
Or took out the trash?
Where are the roses you used to bring me “just because”….?
Now, if I ask for them, you say, “We don’t need that fuss.
Baby, you should already know I love you……”

So the rage inside burns hot,
And I start mentally tallying all the things you are not…
And all the things I’ll never have,
And how you no longer try to make me laugh.
I feel like I’m just a live-in piece of ass.
You want sex two or three times a week??
You expect brain?!
You must be insane!
You expect me to “get in the mood” when, sadly
I’ve grown to dislike you??

But okay--tomorrow is a new day,
And I will begin to relish in the apologies that I need to say,
Because you are a good man.
And I need to pretend that our distant souls can easily be on the mend.
So I smile sweetly into your face,
And to appease the situation,
I throw you a shallow excuse.
My innocent face is now an instigation,
And you vow not to be subjected to my “abuse.”

Look….I don’t mean to shoot you down, or crowd your space.
But look at my face!
Don’t you see how my superficial smile doesn’t reach my eyes?
Don’t you hear me in the bathroom, long after everyone’s gone to bed, secretly crying??
You see…..I’ve become invisible.
I’ve lost myself in you….for you….because of you.
I need for you to see me….
To see that my sensual womanly essence needs nurturing--lovingly and carefully,
I need for you to take me in your arms,
And ever so gently push my hair away from my pleading, child-like eyes.
I need for you to see past this masculine disguise.
I’m a woman, not a man.
And I need the stroke of your hand when you come home,
Just so I don’t feel so fucking alone.
This is a woman’s perspective
On life, on love,
Reflective of what WE go through on a daily basis.
This mask of anger and hostility that we sometimes wear on our faces.
It’s a fa├žade.
We’re really delicate beings on the inside,
Aching for your appreciation,
Relishing in your praise and admiration.
We know that you need space, and time to be a man.
But gaze into our face, slowly caress our hands,
And make sweet, passionate love to us,
Hell--spank that ass, talk dirty, and cuss.
Shit--that’s good, too!
But look deep inside of us to the core,
Say “I love you, baby, and thank you for being here,”
And you’d be surprised how quickly we’ll strive to give you less or more:
More space,
more time,
No fingers in your face,
More sex,
Less whine.
So let’s press Rewind, and start over:
“Hi, honey, I’m home. It’s so good to see you and the kids.
Sorry I had to be gone for so long.
But it’s great coming home to my family.”
Now that is a fairy tale that ends happily.