These are all "roughdrafts" of poems. I just wanted to put them up to share what I've been going through and thinking about since the end of last year. There's a lot going on, I know...you may want to grab a smoke and a drink. I would love to hear any suggestions for editing, word choice, etc. You can find my email addy in the About page. As a final note I would like to say that none of these poems are intended to hurt anyone, that they are written in my darkest moments, and that when I love someone, that love stays with me forever.


As A Jaybird
Choices
Eviction
Holding Out
Monsters
New Boy!
October
Ruminations of the Neurotic and Unemployed
Skin
Whistling
Wounded



As A Jaybird

Their names file
through my mind
a procession of meaningless letters
I thought of each
of my lovers
as a patch
self-contained and small
in a quilt.
I collected them
(sometimes two at a time)
to fill the empty space
to cover me.
But no matter
how many there were
it always seemed
too short
too narrow
and my feet were left cold
in the end.
As I tugged in vain
I thought maybe
just this one more
and I will be complete.

It was all for nothing;
when I met him
he wrapped around me
and flowed infinitely in all directions.
All others were discarded.

But now
I have chosen
to stand
naked
as I never have.
Not with the one.
Not with the many.

I'll endure and overcome
the cold
to learn how to be
independent
a woman
uncovered
discovered
and strong.


Choices

Howling inside
a wounded noise
that I don't want you to hear
because you'd ask
What's wrong?
And then I would answer
that everything is wrong,
that we aren't in love and we know it,
that I am becoming disenchanted with life,
that my spirit has turned into a fog.
Then you would say,
"Don't worry,
dear,"
and pat my head
while looking into
the television.
You'd say,
"Everything will be fine.
Would you rather watch Cops,
or The Match Game?"


Eviction

I am the one who has lost.
I am the one
who was made a fool of,
for allowing you
to live
in my heart.
No matter how many times
you proved yourself
an unworthy tenant,
your promises
of checks in the mail
somehow fooled me
into letting you stay
one more day
then a week
then a year.
You have left the place totally
unfit
for inhabitants.
You broke everything.
You stained the carpets.
You didn't take very good care of the plants.
I made improvements for you.
I tore out walls,
built rooms to your specifications,
got rid of all the unsavory characters
in the building,
changed the color of the paint
to suit your taste.
You made me believe
you were home
for good,
but all the while
you were moving out
your belongings
one at a time.
I came in one day,
and found you were gone.
There was hardly a trace,
save the destruction.

Slowly, I rebuilt.
I showed the place around.
I had some potential short-term renters,
with promising credit checks.
Not needing to fill the vacancy right away
I've decided to hold off
for the perfect fit.
I miss the familiarity
of your footfall
but have learned to live.

I discover you squatting here.
You've managed to pick the lock
and make your way in.
You remind me about the time
that you washed the windows from outside.
But it isn't enough.
I have to be through with you.
I have to put you out.
I'm calling
the cops.

Get out,
or I'll scream.


Holding Out

It's something
I've never been good at.
It's more for me
than for them
that I'm impatient to be held
and filled.
But it's been so long
since I knew
someone who didn't care about me
whether I got off or not
whether I got hurt
as we made haste to the bedroom
leaving our drinks half-full.

It comes back to me
before love
there was emptiness.
Before his gentle hand
there was careless groping.
Unfamiliar,
it comes back to me,
how poorly I play the games
strangers do
and I may not be looking for love again
yet
but I can't be the girl
I was before I knew love
and it opened my eyes.

I can't be the girl
left unsatisfied in every way,
finishing both of our drinks.


Monsters

When we argue in the dark
I can roll my eyes all I want
I can make awful faces
shake my head
flip you off
Arguing in bed
in the dark
I can say things I never would
if I had to look you
in the eye

It's scary what I can do
hidden in the darkness


New Boy!

I know you're just full of imperfection
but I create a portrait of you
gilded in gold.

You're an unattainable prize
I strive to win,
even though I know
you were bought wholesale
for thirty-five cents.


October

I'll remember this October--
the days hazy and orange
the sun obscured
by the smoke from fires far away
--I'll remember it
as the time we stopped trying
and I decided to forge my own way

The Harvest Moon
seemed present at noon,
and day after day
the night grew.
When we turned back the clocks
the darkness seemed unbearable;
and the clocks we couldn't turn back
ticked forward into darkness too.

The light of love
was extinguished
and I asked you to evacuate.


The fields this year are barren;
the season will end
in hunger and need.
Soon the children
will be celebrating in costume.
I'll remember this
as the time I wore a lie
over my face,
until our disguises fell
and revealed a horrible failure
that we had to admit to at last.
I'm ready
to see the leaves drop
I know what comes next;
winter.
In my solitude,
I know there will be a cold
unlike any other
but I'll do it all
however gray

for the Spring
that lies ahead.


Ruminations of the Neurotic and Unemployed
(A Poem Rina Understands)

Why haven't you called me?
What have you been doing all day?
Do you like me?
Do you miss me?
I don't think you do.
But I used to think you did.
What changed?

Where are you?
When will I see you again?

Did I do something wrong?

I checked my email today.
About twenty times.
But you didn't respond to my letter.

Did I say something to offend you?
I hope not.


Skin

I thought I could handle this,
thought my skin was somehow thicker
at this age.
Then
I read
what I said
when I was ten years younger,
and I said,
"I thought I could handle this."
But I was wrong then
and I'm wrong now.
My skin is thin
and there's no denying it.
Even when I'm 80
I'll still try it;
I'll still bruise and cut myself
trying to hold something
covered in thorns,
but I'm never as thick
as I think.


Whistling

Whistling
the wind between ribs
wails and shrieks.
I'm surprised that others
can't hear it.
I'm surprised that they can't
see the hollow
through my skin,
through my eyes.
There used to be
some poetry in there,
the dreams were written
inside
(a little sadness,
and a lot of light).
There used to be
a room to stay in,
a home to come to,
a warm retreat.
It's been abandoned
it's been stripped
it's been replaced by a road
no one uses.
All my charms have become rusted
and broken.
All my dreams
are in a tongue
I've forgotten.
I'm hoping
I can learn again,
build again,
fill again
(in this space
there's a lot of sadness
but still
a little light)


Wounded

These pale legs--
the wound between them
mystifies me
with its power
to heal
to hurt
to seduce.
It works for me
and against me
is never full
aches with a desire
that can't be satisfied
doesn't know what it wants
but wants it so badly

it hurts.