She won’t show her melancholy, it’s just
not something she can share or thinks he would
understand. Personal pain is just that
slice of her life she’d rather keep private.

Rather than her heart, she wears happiness
on her sleeve, a guise that fools everyone
and no one at the same time. Her laughter,
gloriously light, rings out loud and clear.
Her smile, crooked and bewitching, rests
just below her eyes – as a distraction.

To the casual observer, she’s found
life is an experience to be lived
in its fullest, passionate potential;
to eyes who know, her life’s less than perfect.



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

One Last Goodbye*

A life line tossed out into the ether
comes back empty; not because she did not
grab a hold, rather because she could not
grasp the frayed ends of their life together.
It was torn to pieces and cast aside;
now he asks forgiveness, for a second
chance – their life wasn’t perfect – it just was.

They both know perfection is a myth – now.
They didn’t always know this as lovers;
often they lost sight of who they were, blind
to the realities all around them.
Perhaps it was just too late to rescue,
when it couldn’t be ignored anymore;
the love line was too faded to survive.

© Siobhan

*When you can’t fathom saying goodbye, say it once, and then again if you have to, and again – sometimes to say hello (even to that same person) you have to say goodbye to what was first.

Perfect Ingredient

Need rises, urges

me into motion,

engulfs each sense, pushes

for action. I search

my mind

the perfect ingredient

to satisfy this craving,

to complement this want.

Is it the scent of cinnamon?

the earthy musk of fresh soil

or sea salt air?

Each passes across

closed eyelids-

I breathe deeply

calm the inner turmoil,

desire unquenchable.

I picture olive oil drizzle

basted over bare breasts-thighs

imagine the golden glaze

meeting lips

parted for the delicacy.

My mouth waters for

smoky sweet

rich as roasted garlic

spread fresh-hot across

the palate, soothed with wine

splashed on the waiting

tongue tip, suckled

to ease the pain of want,


by the perfect ingredient.

I search.