She is alone now.
In winter’s darkness sometimes
lonely waits for spring.

~ Siobhan


Questions and Answers

Do you miss me? Not an easy question
to answer. Yes, in ways I had not thought
and no, in ways I thought I would miss you.

Can you still feel my presence in your bed?
Though scent of you has been washed from the sheets
you remain an impression beside me.

Does your body ache for mine – inside? out?
Skin soft to the touch, your touch just as soft;
longing and desire exist in me.

That is not an answer to my question –
This ache is longing – both pain and pleasure;
Longing for all the elements of love.

Love without trust; separated by time
and distance, real and imagined – that’s us.


In the End

Without closing my eyes I can see
his final moments,
a grimace;
the cry in blue eyes,
a request
to be let go –
I can’t do.

In the end I know –

he will


Twice in One Lifetime

The mirror is not a liar,
eyes interpret
what is seen, her reflection
becomes the face of someone else, beauty
an image she has never found faithful.

Cold shouldered ambivalence pushed her in
to therapy, to find out who she was –
and why she was
never enough woman,
sufficiently desirable,
witty and adequately charming
to hold love’s attention,
be his one and only.

She needed to learn she could
control no more than her own;
responsibility ended
at her fingertips –
his decision was his decision
(and her answer)
to an un-asked question.

Time taught her
twice in one lifetime
she was more than enough for any
man, if only she believed in herself.

She has come
to herself, knowing
it is the only way to remain
to anyone.




I spilled magnetic
words across the table
in search of ‘the one’
to describe the sensation
clawing its way out of my chest.
belly – sire – trod – crass – limpid

None of them
felt right.
Temporal – tress – gild – treacle

all wrong,
void of meaning
sufficient to express this
mixture of (pain, fear, anger) emotion
simmering inside.

It is not enough
for me
to know the words
fecund – verbose – salient – sure

I must understand the language as well.
I must understand myself.


Capture the Yearning

She pulled the leaf from the table yesterday,
knows these cloudless cold days are prone
to solitary meals. Snowbound
she’ll enjoy homemade chili,
steam floating above the bowl
and listen for the whisper of ghosts –

those apparitions from days gone
when the children were small,
the drafty house was a home
and life had yet to fracture into splinters
too fragile to glue back together.

Notebook folded open, she writes.
Inked lines on paper fall one after the other
until they capture the yearning
she suddenly feels for a full table
with all the leaves in place,
the clink of dishes being passed,
wine glasses filled, and laughter.



Mornings Like This

Mornings like this
find her curled within the warmth of an embrace.
Heavy with sleep, full of dreams
not yet abandoned,
her lips curve into the secret smile of lovers,
a sigh

that release of imagination
with day’s first blink and breath

and lashes flutter against cheeks
creased with pillow-wrinkles.

Tangled in sheets and the orange striped shirt, she twists;
the weight across her hips
the faint sound of rice shifting within
the heating pad’s worn fabric
whispers “wake up”
while she reaches away from reality
back toward sleep
and the comfort of her lover’s arms.

Mornings like this
she longs to stay in bed.