Blink

When a man is busy, he really is busy

He could not text, he could not call

Said he could not even get hold of his cellphone

You, woman, fiddle your phone

wait for him to drop by a tone

But, yes, you princess, would not either ring him on your own

When he is busy, he really is

Fills up the day away without checking if you are okay

Drinks too much caffeine, complains of migraine

stays away watching movies, writing stories

You, woman, stumbles in bed

Throwing pillows over your head

You could not sleep, you could not eat

wondering: Had he been dead?

In the morning, your phone will ring

The blinking screen light tells you it is him

You armor up, ready to freak out

but then he says,

                “Sorry, Love, it had just not been a good day,”

What else is there to say? 

wind 

4.21.2014/ 2.21PM

Mr. Pink

She slipped in her black neoprene shirt, ready to take on the sun and bring on the dirt

The stammering sea sings as she waddles up to its knees then, to its shore and back again

Before then, she was on land playing sand, lying face down on a banana leaf-looking board

Crouching, bending, balancing on the flat bed shore

Came Mr. Pink, the dark canny little man, with pink eyeglass, pink rashguard, and pink sunblock cream permeating his nose and bony cheeks

He looks like a little boy who played with his sister’s pink make up set

He grins his crooked grin, tells her she’d do away with him

Never mind that this is only her second try,

Never mind either that her sunscreen dabs her already misty eye

Mr. Pink exclaims when she tells him she could not swim, but tells her it’s gonna be okay,

there seems to be no other way anyway

The first swell had better tell, she would not get any farther,

Not farther from the shore, never farther from the ocean’s last curl

But look there! She goes, arms stretched out to the wind, knees wobbling in disarray

Riding on the gravity, standing on both feet, spine in awkward stretch

Hands flair open as if to say, “look here! I’m gliding on the water and the air!”

Mr. Pink,  dripping in his pink rashguard and pink eyeglass, his pink sun block now awashed from his face, raises a fist to her with one thumb tucked out in the open air.

the infamous Mr. Pink

Wind

4/10/2014; 11:10 AM 

IFs

If I could leave today I would

I’ll be at the peak of the mountain sitting by the edge of a cliff,

shouting my lungs out in the vast horizon of the lake overview

casting questions like what, how, and why.

Why me? “Why not?” should not be the next.  

If I could leave today

I’ll be out the streets wearing shorts and sneakers

scourging every nook and cranny for a story that needs telling

If I could leave today

I’ll be in a white room telling yore,

With blotting marker and tainted whiteboard,

drawing lines, drawing words, weaving stories

Telling these to little ears

If I could leave today I would

I’ll be out the door and will never come back,

Never again in the chair that never felt like mine,

 Never in the bricked floor that seems to say, “bore”

If I could leave today, I would

There’s just no point in staying

There is no use in waiting

You’re only wasting your time, wasting theirs, wasting days

Because you know, there is really no point in staying

If I could leave today

Why not?   

wind 

4/10/14