After the Vows

History Shared

She would like to forget
and nothing.

Each memory –
passion and desire
spite and bile
joy – fleeting hope
blend into history
shared, blameless,

and still

she is unable to forget
and anything.




The Five Stages

Bolts of electricity, not the kind
to restart the heart, but to stop it – cold.
Breath caught in her ribs, denial sitting
on her tongue, she can’t speak out against him.
Cruelty – intended or done by chance –
scrapes nerves raw. Anger oozes from within
coloring each word he speaks; rejection
rings in her ears … you are not good enough.
She begins the bidding with a price set
by the cheap flights back, moves on to offer
her body (her heart already given),
knowing this bargaining chip may not work.
Alone, she sinks with depression’s stone; slow
acceptance. The will to survive, her strength.

Naked Canvas
Just when she thinks she’s picked up all pieces
of her broken heart, a misstep across
the kitchen floor finds one more shard ready,
willing, and able to pierce the soft flesh.
She questions, cries. Alone for the first time,
uncertainty lurks in every corner.
Each groan of rafters, creak of the floor boards
becomes a ghost walking through and stopping.
With each drop of blood on cracked tile, she feels
his promises, elusive as the wind,
come back and disappear just as they did
before, when he shattered both love and trust.
He watches from outside the circle of
her warmth, offers solace, comfort, passion
– not for her, not now – as she stumbles on
the memories scattered through their house – once home.
She pulls pictures from frames, throws paint on walls
to cover images of love-making
cast there by candles lit, now long gone out,
passion and desire – following suit.

With each stroke of color, she heals again,
a naked canvas, new life, waiting for her.


This Wanting
Wishing I never had you in this life,
doesn’t do me any good – it doesn’t
change the facts (never will)  – and do I want
to remove this time? Would I want to lose
the moments? the sensations? the newness
in the soft way you caressed my body
with your fingertips – and kissed my lips, mouth
open and honest in your desire…
Am I willing to erase the pleasure
of yesterday for some sanity  now?
It is impossible – this wanting you –
almost as much as having you – again
I chase after dreams, holding on in sleep
to capture memories when they slip through.

© Siobhan
May 20, 2009

Practice Makes Perfect

She is practicing
being alone.
Wrapped in a robe this morning,

soft cream with pink and red hearts,

she wanders to the coffee pot,
pours a cup of strength

with a generous dollop of lace.

Pausing before the myriad pictures
scattered on the refrigerator door,
her fingers trail across familiar faces;
she whispers good morning, love, and
have a wonderful day
to each.

Their smiles remain in place,
reflect a sense of power;
a seed she planted years before
you can do and be anything.

Positive energy renewed, she moves
about the room, reminding herself

the dog needs his walk;
you need to eat breakfast;
laundry – grocery store – bank…

Tomorrow, she thinks, tomorrow
perhaps I’ll leave
loneliness behind, finally
and reach alone

practice makes perfect.

© Siobhan
May 17, 2009

A Changeling

Each twist of word and phrase shifts perception;
angles the light shining on those reading
the poem.  They may not be able to
see changes in the pictures he creates
– yet they understand he plays by no rules.

Some other force drives him forward – not heart
nor head, perhaps dream or nightmare instead
(both spawned by memories in his past lives).
He takes the form – knight in tarnished armor,
sage of eons past, or Bacchus banal –
and plays his part well, hearing no judgments,
accepting no critique of word or deed.

This changeling exists in a life that is
neither good nor fair – it just simply is.

May 7, 2009

Brick and Mortar

In the tower, with light lit, I wonder
is that swim frightening for both of us?

I feel as if I had jumped in myself,
floundered against the tides to make my way
through the year we lost, when you couldn’t swim.

I wonder if a bridge will be built now;
if either of us have “it” – the patience…
Love – trust, the essential brick and mortar
that will provide us the chance for success.

Growing up – growing apart, letting go
only to find one another again
may be a fantasy; may be a dream
and the way to keep promises alive.


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