French Blue Skies
She recalls French blue skies when cold invades
and being alone is unbearable;
they are her sanctuary in winter.
When he was present, the grey washed away.
Even when distanced by thought, he was still
wrapped inside her heart; she took him with her
to work each morning, to her bed at night.
A silent traveling partner, he shared
the sight of ocean below the plane,
lights atop the Eiffel Tower at dusk,
croissants and dark coffee laced with cream –
the enjoyment of a Paris café.
She journeyed alone thousands of miles,
to find her way back into love again.


A Well-Made Bed
This bed we made – yes, ‘we’ for it would be
only half-undone had we not both slipped
from the sheets weary and wanting something
this bed is cold. Soiled sheets, stained with life
lessons, wait to be washed clean with tears, dried
with warmth – smiles caught in one another’s
eyes as we glance back – look forward with hope.
We circle around the bedposts, caress
the polished wood we clung to in passion,
ghost smiles dancing on lips once kiss-bruised
and swollen. Lay down alongside me here;
feel the newness of clean sheets spread beneath
us, waiting to cradle creation – chance –
possibilities – in a well-made bed.

© Siobhan
May 21, 2009

Just the Same

Growling, she approaches the day

on edge

uncertain of the next move,
sensations twist in the wind
tighten her chest
churn stomach contents.

She is not


She does not know this person.
– Angry


itching for a fight
with anyone – and everyone;

just the same

she still

for the warmth of arms wrapped around her,
heated whispers in her ear,
the press of his body close against her own.

nothing in her world makes sense
and she understands.

© Siobhan