Missing Man

There is a peace missing. A peace you filled many lifetimes ago and cannot be reached without knowing where you are. When I think of you, I am reminded of the nights we laughed in the bed of my dad’s truck; picked stars to call ours and screamed back at lightning in the rain. We would giggle about poetry we wrote in notes and picture frames we once made. I remember the first time we had our first time. The blanket wrapped barely around our hips. A motion so slow, yet so quick. 

And I remember the first time you had a hit. Blunt to your lips, red eyes and long rips.Too many pills came next. A needle and that blue shit. White powder lines, who’s next? You got in the game real quick. Thought I was stubborn and your friends needed you more. They called me cunt, slut, and whore. You were wrapped up in the game that played you harder than them all. The best way to explain is that we still cannot find your soul. You’re out hustling the streets without a way to retreat. Those withdraws have a way of working the weakest into the wall. A build-up, a quick draw, a small hit, a large fall. 

My stomach stretches stress the size of a cigarette burn. The hole you left when you never returned. I know the world can be harsh! I too cannot face people most days! But I’d never hurt them without the knowledge of my stay. I’ve hurt them enough with knowledge of my ways. So if you can hear this, know I search for you in the parking lots, parks, and gas stations of our town. Any spare change or a blanket given is on your behalf. I have dreams of finding you and being the heroine of my past. I also have dreams you’ll leave for the heroin – surely your last. 

Mother Knows Best

Has Mother told you you’re worth everything and more? I bet she never told you about women like this one; a bigger fish to score. A woman completely off the market to settle and yet meddles. 

I bet Mother warned you of promiscuous women, told you never to trust. This one doesn’t sleep around with men, she prefers nature to be her lust. Mother told you to be polite. This one doesn’t know manners and makes fun of your standards with sweet laughter.

This woman, a wild thing, many moons faced with heavy burdens that have blessed her with a humble grace, wild taste, and a grateful place. Peacefully poised as she is her own strength. Mother is too frantic with her face and uses her toys to dictate in arrogant ploys.

Mother doesn’t know this type of woman, but Father does.

Was it father who taught you about pleasure? what a woman wants? He walked you through the basics and that you must never get caught. 

Did he mention all women are the same? Could he describe the many he came across in his day? Perhaps you told your father she was not like them, but he’d correct you in a privilege, matter-of-fact way, that she would be the same as even the sweetest girls had been. 

Mother might have interrupted once again because she couldn’t pass it up. She probably said you could please anyone with your good looks and truly decent love.

Come home

The air is gone,

My lungs don’t breathe

My heart won’t beat.

My legs tremble.

Unstable.

My lips quiver

My eyes tear

You’re not near.

Fear.

My feet retrace their steps 

My mind repeats it’s wrong

I’m unable to make clear,

how I lost you here.

The brakes screech

The door slams

You grab my wrist and hold my hand

The kiss is strong

I clinch my eyes

Then,

the most powerful surprise.

You come home.

Sixth Sense

He lives in your body. He’s there in the morning on the crisp breath of your kisses. He lingers in the kitchen when you pull my hips while I’m making breakfast. He plays crossword as we walk in the park. Signs his name when you write the grocery list. He sends kisses across the room when you glance at me during our housewarming party. He winks while you ask if we need another bottle of wine. He has never left my sight. You will see him one day and you will leave too. 

Weeds

Scatter my seeds in your soul

And ask me to flourish without water or light.
Pull extras that you can do without.

And foundation for regrowth
Weed me out as if I was a nuisance 

Instead of a wildflower.