February 14th

She hated carnations.
They reminded her of funerals,
and long Sundays spent listening
to celibate priests talk about a being
she knew didn't exist.
She hated carnations.
They smelled like sickness,
and her grandfather's funeral.
Like Easter morning, and old folks homes.
She hated carnations.
She had told him so.
She didn't hint about it, like usual.
She came right out and said the words,
"I hate carnations, they remind me
of death and churches."
No room for interpretation,
it was a statement of fact.
She liked dandelions, daisies,
roses were nice, as were lilies.
She liked every flower but carnations.

Carnations she hated.

Carnations are what he brought her on
February 14th.

Face

The Door On The Left

The door on the left is
always closed, shut to the light
coming from the hall,
the sounds behind it are muffled,
an occasional moan,
a nervous laugh,
a pleading apology,
a promise to try harder next time,
a pledge that this was,
really,
the last time.
The door on the left,
is painted white.
Every scuff mark shows,
every fist beat resonates within
the wood, till another takes its place.
There is no welcome mat,
just a salt stained spot in the beige carpet.
The door on the left is
always locked, the hallway light above
burned out, dust covered,
it's glass globe filled
with moths, and flies.
The door on the left is
always locked,
the door on the right
tries to not notice.

Under Water

One day bumps into
the next until you
are left
bruised, swollen,
at the end of the week.

From a vacant apartment
a smoke detector
screams for a new battery.
It is getting louder
as the days go on,
it is though
we are living in
a submarine
that keeps signaling
to surface,
but continues to dive
deeper.
Someone, please just
change the fucking battery!
Please.

The days just slam
into one another
and I am left
bloody and breathless
at the bottom
of the ocean.

An Actor's Life For Me

Today I bought a yellow coat
At the Goodwill.
It cost 6 dollars and 99 cents.
It reminded me of Catherine Deneuve.
It seemed out of place amongst,
The other coats that hung with it.
Last night I dreamt of Charlton Heston,
I couldn’t find a piece of paper to get
His autograph.
He didn’t have a gun.
Marlon Brando died this week.
Everyone says he was their
Father, and now his lawyer
Says he wasn’t bankrupt after all.
They still can’t find his Oscars.
I haven’t taken my meds for
3 days, and this reminds me of him.
My son is 3 years old,
And says that I look like a princess.
He is sleeping now,
Holding a yellow ball in his arms.
Someday he may be an actor,
And someone will buy a coat
Because it will remind them of him.

I want someone to love me like this

When I die I want someone
to pester the only remaining
photo lab in town,
with piles of pictures of our life.
Two copies of us kissing
in the backyard.
Four copies of me standing
in the snow with that funny hat I love.
Three copies of our first
born, on his first day home.
Four copies of a faded picture,
torn and discolored,
of me
just smiling at them.

I want someone to leave my coat
thrown over my desk chair.
I want someone to have mismatched pillows
for months, because they can still
smell my scent on one.

I want someone to cry every time
they hear a Johnny Cash song,
they see a stray cat,
they can't get a knot out,
someone is driving without their
headlights on.

When I die I want someone
to love me like this.

Last of the Season