A Light Snow was Falling

The streets are damp
chill creeps past the seal
where the sole of my sneaker
meets the fabric covering my instep
making my feet want to abandon
once pristine socks, now
unpleasant squishiness
My sweater, because who needs
more than a sweater
in the wilds of Florida
is heavy on my shoulders
I’ll drape it over a chair
in my office, where the AC
will be running no matter the temperature
28 or 88
It runs
 
Waiting for the light to change
I tilt my head
mist on my eyelashes
too faint to be rain
is a kiss goodbye
 
Once we wore high boots
waded through slush
not caring how long it would take
to get to the west side
for pain au chocolat and
café au lait
in wide, deep cups, two hand cups,
where we’d sit outside
on plastic chairs.
You said, there is a spot of chocolat,
licked the corner of my mouth.
 
I don’t know if the wet on my face
is snow
or a shimmer of tears

Date Night

We tried something different
Set on saving, changing, tweaking
this thing between us
that wasn’t a relationship
that wasn’t a friendship
that defied any name we chose
if that name wasn’t Passion
 
Together, we had that aplenty
layers of now, silk layers
upon layers on top of more layers of
silk, with a tensile strength greater than steel
yet it dissolves with friction
The geometric progression, the Fibonacci spiral
lightening scorching our flesh
blood thundering
counting the seconds
syncopating our heartbeats
even when we were miles apart
 
But we, you, I wanted to try something different
something normal, human, ordinary
We rode the 6 train downtown
to some rancid art theater
Sid and Nancy
A nice normal couple in a rom-com
until they end, overdosed
in the notorious Chelsea Hotel
 
That could be us, you say
Your hand on my thigh
spreading your fingers
singeing me through the denim
I am lost in last weekend
my eyelids flicker
But we’re not punk rock gods
Or heroin addicts, I reply.
You breathe, The before.
The day before, that could be us.
 
I am melting into the worn seat
more stains and sticking to the floor
blending with decades of spilled soda
 
I close my eyes, your mouth on my neck,
The music, the smell of butter
When I open them
we are ordering vegetarian chili
You tell me you’re meeting up with friends
in Alphabet City and kiss my knuckles
and you’ll call me tomorrow
I take the train uptown
to find my car
drive home
alone

Sundays with Margaret

Three o’clock on Sundays
before the two-hour drive home
or longer, if there is traffic
I’d turn up
on your doorstep
balancing a plate of cake
or box of doughnuts
and a bottle of semi-decent rum
(if I’d gotten paid)
or rotgut (if the week was lean)
with one hand and
my daughter’s hand clasped in the other.


Hugs, and yes, child, you can play with Candy
Don’t worry if she takes a dog biscuit or two
They’re safe for humans, too.
For me, an ancient cup
filled with tea some sugar
Perhaps a splash of whatever high proof dregs
was left from the week before.
Cigarettes, lit from the embers of the last one
butts filling the plate your teacup nestles in.


We’d sit at the Formica table
and reminisce about people I’d never met
times I hadn’t lived in
places I’d never been
slowly sipping and refilling our cups
until the dog and the child
and the menfolk
decided it was time to plate
the roast or the lasagna or the beans and rice
depending on if it had been
a good week
and how early we were in our cups.


You gave me an apron
a velvet beret
a set of teacups
for my birthday
Christmas
Mother’s Day
when we knew the sun was setting
on our Sundays.

My daughter tucks her child’s curls
into that velvet beret
I tie the apron around my waist
and pour tea, mine laced with spirits
into the fragile cups
for our Sunday tea party

The Ring

Tonight, I sleep with a cadaver.
My husband, the denier, as the CLL
strengthened by long term COVID
consumes him, pound by pound.

Your wedding band,
indestructible titanium and carbon,
surface marred and scarred
sand blasted, acrylic chipped,
ungloved victim of some abandoned project
lies in the dirt, flung from fingers
shrunk, shriveled, from
hands once full and strong, thick with muscle,
now trembling.
Even the swiftly shipped replacement
two sizes down
spins freely with each movement.

I slide the pristine ring
onto my left pointer finger
so close to mine
so far from mine.
It knows this is not its place.
I move it to my other hand
settle it on my right ring finger
My flesh seizes it.
I can fight no more,
knees crumple and I
rest my head on your chair.

It is cold.

I light candles, adding one
Confused by the array
Who are they all? Who do I remember?
Who still lives in the life after life
as they are remembered by me?
Does my confusion erase them?
Does it erase me?
Who am I if I am not?

So many doors locked behind me
abandoned homes
sad dreams
distorted memories
overwriting some truth
that no one knows any more.

I feel your hands take mine
I see you, and so many more
waiting for me in the forever
home that will be a home
I drop the key down the sewer grate
and walk into your embrace.

Reading Tea Leaves

Aisles of tea, pushing an empty cart

staring at shelves, paralyzed

the wrong tea, the wrong tea

small bags and large bags and loose leaves

and distillates and

single servings

and and and

if I take the wrong tea

 

I drive, gas gauge blinks

empty alert

but I drive

backseat trunk passenger seat filled

every tea

strainers filters water boilers

Strip mall parking lot, empty except for

homeless shopping carts and

third shifters of the dark

temporary haven

I can’t go home

There are crackers waiting to be dunked

crushed salt for the wrong tea

 

Safer to sleep in the

shadow of the lower bagmen

who haven’t scored notches

who don’t have teardrop tattoos

 

than to face those hands

pantomime communion

wafer in wine

bread in hemlock

crackers in tea

27

Three cubed

That is how many times

today

I reminded myself

that invisible disabilities

deserve my patience

and love

and all I want

is to be free

of this burden

and all I fear

is that day is

coming

soon