Space, this is how I want to fall in love.

Space, this is how I want to fall in love.

I want
Utter closeness and respect, a safe assurance, and a trusted feeling of acceptance, rested in permanence.

I want
the sensation of new tradition, international beauty, mosaic art and century-old wood.

I want
the seduction of craftsmanship, the eroticism of a cal-king, the commitment of a waterfront view and the affection of dimmed lighting.

I want
the morning flirtation of rain showers, clapping music of tropical drops on elephant leaves.

I want
the contradiction of sand between my toes and the mediation of a coastal breeze on my back.

I’ll stand between the warmth and history of white stones
And pay my homage with shuffled steps of fine gravel, glittered walkways.

I’ll eavesdrop on murmurs of fountains
And gossip in the evenings behind the candlelight.

I will sleep with Adventure beside me
And dream of another day that is solved in this Space.

Space, this is how I want to fall in love.

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I Am Your Wife

A wife reflects on the history and evolution of her tender relationship with her husband.


mm-hmm.
i am your wife.

i am sweet smile at the party when we met.
i am exchanging phone numbers in the crowd.
i am listening to first message when you called the day after.

i am idle chatter before asking me to meet you.
i am timed giggles and clever comebacks on the phone.
i am counting down to lunch date – in ten minutes.

i am bold conversation over Chinese take-out.
i am reassurance that i’m single.
i am compassionate listener, noticing you’re not eating.

i am tentative to tell you truths you’re not ready for.
i am sobbing with ache in your car.
i am stuttered expressions of love.

i am fire with resentment.
i am not answering your calls.
i am exasperation to pursue this.

i am phone calls for $20.
i am revelation of your situations.
i am help without questions.

i am ensuring your appetite.
i am focus on keeping you comfortable.
i am rearranging my days to be with you.

i am observing your progress.
i am happy for accomplishments.
i am stepping aside to let you step up.

i am nervous about two carats.
i am ten cities apart from you.
i am holding down our fort.

i am war with illness.
i am stubborn to be defeated.
i am hoping you keep your doubts to yourself.

i am late night waiting.
i am three-day breaks, understanding.
i am groundless, sporadic debate.
and in all time, i am
wanting
working
molding
praying
submitting
and knowing
that now my smile is sweet because
i am your wife.

My Beloved – Contemplation of Honor

My Beloved,

Is it passing your belief that God led me to cross the ocean at such a young age, to expose me to the love and art of sound that you know so well?
Was it only the angel’s clumsy coincidence that I swim through turbulence, only to immerse in books and stories that equal my conversation with you now?
Even recently, do you overlook the orchestrating of the Great Conductor, who removed things that served as my distraction, only so I could focus on our own wandering thoughts?
Have I come so far, to be devoured for one weekend and be delayed in time?

Would I wait, Beloved, until your work produces enough satisfactory paperwork for you to file? Would you wait, Beloved, until I am equipped to make the same drive you do?
All the while, are we busying ourselves with sensibility, and sacrificing the life that is “ours?”

How much longer do we have?
How many points do we each need to earn?
How much of each other’s cares must we take seriously, before we act?
Have I already made the promise and not told you?
Am I so foolish or faithful to do so?

What is Honor to me, Beloved? Or status? Or title?
Haven’t I grown beyond that?
Haven’t I grown to fill it?
What are presents and rings, flowers and chocolates, that show me my importance?
Would it be knowing you breathe deeply in the night and your knowing that I wake slowly in the morning?

What have I to study but righteousness?
What have I to sing but patience?
What have I to plant but devotion?
What have I to write but love?
What have I to listen to but your promise?

You choose how to honor me.

Lovingly,
M

[Originally written 7, September 2009]

DOMESTIC

Frantic
Lost my keys

Panties in the corner
On the dresser
4am, car 2 blocks away
Fu**, I’m stressin’
Garage before sunrise
Elevator tiptoe
Oh, good, he’s still sleepin’

Dawn in July
Did it again
Explanation –> #3/ He’ll believe me
“I was with Jamie..
Her car broke down
My cell phone died..”
Battery? Oh. BAttery.

6 years
2 bedrooms
Almost bills and own cell phones
Now you wanna interrogate
what time I get home?

Look, I’m late for work
I’ll see you later, whatchu want for dinner?
Huh?
You’ll be late tonight?
like, 9?
oh. Right.
Later.

My Peaceful Life is Coming – A Poem of Rest

My peaceful life is coming
It shall be delivered soon
Package complete with sugar sunsets
And cinnamon sighs on a full moon
 
My serenity is en route to my door
I’ll sign for it with open arms
They left out the chaotic accessories
But included conversations with charm
 
My hushed and peaceful sonnet
Is a bonus to my set
Fully equipped with books of wisdom
Trimmed with passion, textured scarlet
 
My peaceful life is coming
The Great Exhale Deluxe
I’m greeted and guided by enlightened minds
And I am stronger to share and trust
 
My quiet happiness is on schedule
As promised by my Lord
My heart simply needs to be home to receive it
On the day of my Reward.
 
“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” John 14:2

I Used To Take Walks With My Father

I used to take walks with my father.

It was an uninterrupted time.
Before emails and cell phones and separation.
Before complicated conversations, more than 3,000miles apart
About how next year is a better time to come and visit.

He would hold my hand, around the block.
Cherry Street, where it curves, and we pass by the neighbor’s home with the high gate.
The dogs hear us chatting and they’d bark
Then my soul felt like it was in danger.
Because I was six.

I would keep walking with my father
Who held my hand and kept his stride.
He’d walk me past the gate, with the barking dogs
And talk to me through the noise.
Sometimes I couldn’t understand him
But I always knew his voice was there.

Our conversation would change after the gate.
After the barking dogs, we had to talk about something new.
Tangent and unrelated, but still very important.
I would hear the crickets again
Singing from the thickness of the untamed grass
Those sounds could only reach my ears a certain way
Because I was at the height and age to listen.

He smoked in the evenings
With cigarette in farthest hand
I can’t remember if the smoke ever reached me
Anything on the other side of him
Couldn’t hurt me
He might have even paused on his answers, to exhale
But it’s hard to notice that when you’re next to a moving tower.

It was easier to love my father because
He didn’t correct me.
I didn’t have to grow up under his rules
Our only restriction was distance, occasional pride and politics
Would my decisions have been different
If we walked a few more times
And I told him new stories
Through the noise of dogs in my adolescence?

Maybe it is better we fell short
That I don’t have opportunity to outgrow the evening walks
Avoiding the charge-off, that it was a waste of time and breath
And step and wisdom
I’d rather have memories cut off at six
Than extend them with images of my trying to escape his presence at sixteen.

Now that I’m older
Walks are still special
Uninterrupted talking time
To stay close to the ground, every step a clearing experience.
Maybe it’s because I’m a Virgo or some earth sign explanation.
Maybe because it’s a time I can talk to God
And still feel like I’m going somewhere.
I mold this to my understanding
That this fragmented memoir
Is infused with love and acceptance

Because I am at the strength and age to write it.

“My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” Psalm 45:1