July 3, 2015

On Sleep

She follows me
when I awaken,
a quickie
in the morning,
perhaps a nap
in the afternoon. At night,
she's waiting in my room,
to see if I'm ready
for something more.
In the dark,
she's too strong
for me to overcome,
impatient, gathering
all her power,
having her way with me,
like so many times before,
leaving me pregnant
with an afterlife,
to be carried
full term,
'til I'm not here,

June 30, 2015


The ceiling fan
over our bed
turns through the night,
churning air,
keeping me cool,
the hum of its motor
helping me sleep.
Another day
in the desert
is on the way,
sky turning red,
birdsong flooding our room,
the land still warm
from yesterday.
Somewhere far off,
you look to the sky,
those big, cold drops
touching your face.
I can almost
hear you say,
looks like it's going
to rain, today.

June 27, 2015


In the mirror,
I'm like anyone else:
eyes, mouth,
heart in my face,
though every day
my flaws
crowd out who
I used to be.
It's no one's fault
clothes in my closet
are not me,
or that voices
on my phone 
over my name,
sounding like
they're calling
they've never known,
forever asking
when I'll return.
They can't know
I've fallen
through the cracks,
where there's no one
I can blame.

June 23, 2015

Temps Perdu

I guess
it's too late
to change who I am,
my path to this house
so easily traced,
one misstep leading
to another.
More and more,
I fall asleep
when I should be watching,
looking for all the telltale signs.
Refusing to confess is not
a punishable offense,
but more a symptom
some are bound to notice.
My doctor now asks
a series of questions
he never asked before,
testing my memory,
to see if I'm eligible
for the cure,
wondering if I can still
find my way back home,
if I'll be needing
more attention,

June 19, 2015


By June,
the snowbirds
have all gone home,
cars heading north,
taking them back
where they belong.

Heat fills the valley,
nothing moves.
Streets are empty,
many stay inside,
doing all they can
to be cool.

A few bake in the sun
out at the pool;
hot wind and sand
scour everything new.

By September,
we're all waiting for rain;
moving a bit slower,
we still remain.

The snowbirds
are returning,
each one wondering
how we've been;
they say,
they couldn't stay here,
in the spring,
but now they've all
come back, again.

They can't know
we're not like them, anymore;
having lived through summer,
on our own,
we're more than ready
for the fall.

June 12, 2015


Everyone said
they wanted to come,
though many
were brought in
far away from home,
to mingle within
long shadows of youth,
trying to remember
every innocent sin

before they all knew
they would never touch
one another again;
remembering from long before,
a future unimaginably distant,
full of wives, husbands,
children as yet unborn,
love, illness, untimely death,
all waiting to be
tried on,

Those still at large
have finally surrendered,
so they might explain
to themselves and others,
how every little thing
had gone so well,
at least so far
as they
could tell.