I broke one of my mother's figurines
when I was helping her move the
Christmas tree downstairs.

She glued it back together but it wasn't
quite the same. The visible cracks still
a reminder of what occurred.

She told me it was fine but I felt so bad that
I bought her the same one again so it
was as if the original had never broken.

Now she proudly displays the two side
by side and insists that the original
is her favorite.

The calm rush
                       of
warm coffee
streaming
           down your chin.
The hot tears
            of
candle wax
escaping
           onto the floor.
The bitter taste
     of
stale grief
swirling
            in your cup.

Your sorrow
      hardens
to my skin.
Let me pour
                   my
warmth over you
and
         allow
my steam to radiate
   and lift your
         lament.

I.
I’m standing in front of a stove starved  
for heat, shivering before a *** of boiling water,
my stiff fingers attempt to fold
themselves into my chest.
it's unusually cold in California this week,
I know you would be pleased.
I am focused on a gifted bouquet of orange roses
decorating my dining table;
only you would understand why
they make me so blue.

II.
I thought about you this Thanksgiving,
how your hands drew a line through the air
showcasing points of chaos, as you recounted
the turkey fire, and your grandfather's
drunken speech, 8 years ago this week.
I couldn't remember the punchline,
but we laughed so **** hard.

I figured that's why you were writing,
you too recalled a time I made you laugh,
but edited the sad parts out.

III.
You ask how I am.
I want to tell you I feel not like myself,
but I think it unfair to make you a reference point
of whom I think I should be.
So I'll say, I feel less
like the girl you would remember,
and more like a stranger
living in her body.

IV.
I had a dream three days in a row
where we were sitting on the shallow end
of an empty pool avoiding remnants
of algae water, settled in small ponds.
I was wearing a burgundy, babydoll dress
that I used to wear when I was in eight.
I whispered something in slow motion,
you laughed, teeth grinning towards the sky,
like a child;
how bittersweet it was to remember the way
the lines find their place around your almond eyes.

I guess you will always be a place where
my subconscious goes to ache.

Delilah baby I can feel the weight of you in my arms.

I can feel my k to z love for you and see how that laugh of yours makes people cry
and how that smile pierces my heart because it looks just like his did.

I can feel the sun kissing each one of our toes as we sit overlooking the grand canyon in the kaleidoscope sunset.
your spider fingers are wrapped in my hair like a plea to never be left alone
your spindle legs are all knobby kneed and pale entwined with mine.

baby he left me not you.

I was a hurricane and he loved you too much to look

afraid that one glance and he'd be head over heels reeling out of control
like you were the drug and he was the addict.

they say everything happens for a reason and you are my reason.

Delilah baby you are the here and the now of forever.
the stop sign on the corner is an obstacle for street racers but its a godsend because its just enough of a pause for me to kiss you between the eyes.

and I can't ever finish anything so this story isn't complete

and at the top of the pass where the air is clear enough if we sing loud enough maybe he will hear us and remember who he left behind.

1.
I made my way through thin, cigarette trees
as I searched for, and simultaneously, lost myself.
The foliage coated the ground in different shades of gold,
soft earth's natural armour against my violent feet.

2.
I whispered like smoke, from some conscious place,
"where are you,

                       where are you?"

3.
I found the moon in wavering waters,
resembling a pale dinner plate.
The stars, its companions,
the table on which it was set.

4.
I looked for recognition in the eyes of my reflection,
the face was that of another woman.
One that did not flinch like an exposed nerve;
One that knew she was more like a grains of sand at her feet,
than the gravity around her.

I folded my tired self into her stillness,
knowing that I controlled nothing, and
finally rested.

For thirteen years
the old man
watched
the sun rise
and fall
everyday
until one day
he did not.

Those were
the happiest
thirteen years
of
his life.

it was
              as if
the world never stopped
         spinning
in those
few moments
       when
her eyes
met

his

The fingertips of the trees leave space for the
sky.
The sun with his prowess gives them light
while
branches flow as veins of the earth.

Streaks of clouds like ribs to the sky,
winding
as an atlas of forgotten paths,

dance o'er shaded silhouettes
of
yesterday's bounty.

The fallen leaves of yesteryear's grace
ebb
to their resting and etch their monument
in
time.

And the moon, supple in her gesture,
whispers
the star dusted secrets of tomorrow's

fortune.

And if you're still awake at 3am, not sure of who you are anymore,
Darling, I will read every poem that I had written since the day that I met you
To remind you that my chest will always be your home,
My thoughts; your bed
And my heart is a graveyard to all your ghosts
If you get lost,
Run, run as far as you can
Until you find yourself
And remember that my arms are always open for your return.