Sam's Peace

Blue eyes and brown hair

Pink lips and freckled skin

Coke bottle hips and extra white teeth

She’s naturally beautiful.  

thin black lines accentuate her eyes

and butterflies envy her mascaraed lashes.

Her nails are secretly weak but polished over

And her waves in ways no spray gel can tame.

She works hard to be beautiful.

She is a mathmetician.

And a modest poet.

She is a workaholic,

But she is always early for dinner.

Her time is balanced as her checkbook

And she’s organized her way to beautiful.

*******

She is my best friend.

She is my steak and potato

My ice cream breaks on a diet.

She is my glitter, glam and gloss,

My shoes socks and sweater.

She’s the knowledge that comfort’s beautiful.

She keeps my secrets so I don’t lose them

She keeps me honest about my lies.

She glues me together when I tear apart

And helps me plaster on what makes me pretty.

She keeps me beautiful.

She keeps me beautiful

And that keeps her beautiful.

And therein is the peace,

known only to best friends.

And she taught me that its beautiful.

coke bottle

Coke Bottle

I’m no crystal chalice

I’m just an empty coke bottle.

Once I was filled with optimism,

carbonated with capability,

Was sweetened with naive serenity.

And after I met you I believed

Someone could want a sip of me.

I am humble and forward

but my labels are in small print

I am sensitive to being shaken,

And since I am always where you need me to be

I’m easy to use, and easily taken.

I’m what you settle for

When you’ve a dire thirst to fill

But I’m no fancy wine ^[a]vase-

To be caressed and admired with your traveling hands

I’m your coke bottle, compromised and commonplace. ^[b]

You told me we couldn’t be together

You said it’d be too hard.

You blamed it on your timing and your tastes.

You sleep easy every night,

Because coke is so accessible there is no shame in waste.^[c]

You made me believe you were thirsty for reliability  

You told me you wanted me

With sharp tongue and soft touch you teased,

And I wanted you to have me^[d].

But you concluded you couldn't be pleased .^[e]

Sometimes ^[f]I long to be as pristine as your best jeweled glass

but there is no candlelight and cloth for caffeine and sugar-

You save that respectability for chardonnay;

Knowing paper and plastic fit me just  fine^[g],

And you could have me any damn day.

My contents flatten with age,

And my flavor is always the same.

The wines in that crystal are ceaseless and capricious

And I guess I can’t blame you for your choices,

Because by comparison, I’m obviously worth less^[h].

Enjoy your elusive liquid luster^[i]-

Beware of the cracked crystal at her core.

She breaks easy and slips quick.

Her glass and gems are so strong and steady in your fingertips

But she’s only beautiful because she’s the one you  picked.

Don’t think I hate her

We’re just a different breed of tool.

And don’t feel bad- I’ve been sidelined before

For the clean-cut, classy girls like her,

And ^[j]I’m sure I’ll be taken and used some more.

Set your kitchen table with your beloved glass,

And you can toss me out to be recycled

Or keep me around to have someone to throttle.

Chide me for feeling brimming and wanted;

After all: I’m an empty coke bottle.

Mama's Pearls

I sent my daughter to school

in those pearls mama gave me. 

Mama bought them, full price, 

at the store on the corner of Jackson and Hull 

the only one on the street, 

she'd never been in before. 

She didnt tell Daddy 

because those pearls were just from her;

those pearls were just for me. 

I was turning thirteen 

the first time they pirouetted on my collarbone 

and suddenly my overalls were a ball gown 

suddenly my knotted hair was blonde and straight 

suddenly i was royalty, 

all because of that string of pearls- 

Mama gave me. 

I wore them to my prom, 

I wore them at my first interview, 

I wore them at my wedding, 

I wore them the day my baby was born, 

and i wore them every other day 

i was told i wore so much shine out of them- 

i could have worn them away. 

My daughter turned thirteen yesterday, 

and a gift was easy to come by. 

Her father bought her some roses and a dress, 

and signed a card from the both of us, 

but i had a gift of my own. 

My neck had never felt so empty as when she undid the clasp, 

but my heart was never so full. 

i cried and i told her "sorry baby, they don't shine like they used to"

and though her hair was blonde and straight and she stood before me in a gown,

she told me: "Mama they're a dream come true". 

She came home the next day 

with tears in her eyes. 

She told me the string just gave way, 

and the beads had fallen to the floor

like a rush of rain on my windshield. 

she said she had tried to pick the pieces up, 

but the pearl's fate was sealed. 

I told her not to cry, 

and spoke softly to her: 

"i didn't give you pearls to keep, 

their magic isnt yours or mine, 

i gave you pearls to love-

pearls of impression, 

and you took them, 

and made a million memories, 

and nothing can break from you that they were real.

and whether they sit on your neck or not baby, 

my Mama's pearls are with you, you just gotta feel"

country music

I listen to country music.

I've never liked sushi,

I don't try to bike uphill,

I let my hair knot in the summer wind, 

I'd let a man front the bill.

I drive too close to the wheel, 

and i listen to country music

cause it has taught me how to  feel. 

I'm always the first to laugh at smiles,

I'm the first to cry at screams,

I do my best contemplating on sidewalks for miles,

I do my best sharing when someone touches my skin,

and i listen to country music 

to learn who to let in. 

I am terrible with numbers, 

I think in letters and poetry, 

I dont lack excitement or enthusiasm 

I really struggle with clarity.

and you are a man-

 from a country song, 

without the boots and hat 

but this is the real world, 

so we can do without that.

Baby you dont deserve this.

She told us all,
how hard it was to feel again-
and we told her all
"baby you deserve this." 


She fell faster then she wanted to,
and hit harder then she thought her knees could take.
and she let herself be excited,
and she let the butterflies in her stomach break formation.
She let them fly,
she let herself go-
she lit her red wax candle and walked through a  locked door
into the musty unknowns of love.
All she wanted there,
were hugs and whispers.
and we all promised her-
her dark and locked room, would still be as bright and bashful-
as it had been when she first discovered it.

So she stood
beautiful and fragile-
in a greenhouse where love should grow
under scrutinizing light,
a light- that would have shined-
that would have been beautiful
if he had been there to grow too.

And when she came home,
sickened by the weight of a heart getting hard-
all we could tell her,
in our well lit gardens,
was "baby, you dont deserve this"

"and it is written"

I remember meeting her, in thew purple glow of her cubical by the window. She was wearing crystals around her neck and black glittered polish on her nails. i dont remember all of what she told me, but I do remember everything she said about you.
She told me that I would meet you early September-maybe late August. She told me your freckles would look like sand. She said your hair would feel like angel wings. She told me you'd love cats, and fleece. She told me you'd make a great best friend, and a better boyfriend. She told me, in her witchy wisdom, all i had to do was meet you- and that the loving you, the courting you, and the relationship would unravel in front of me.
I pray to my goddess, and i light my candles, and i hope to the earth and the skies that she's right.
But till then- as summer tip-toes into my painted landscape; i wonder with ever brush stroke if your fates will fit into the image. I wonder, if your god see's us like my goddess does. I wonder if you've dreamed a portrait of me- because i have of you.
I pray to my goddess, and i light my candles, and i hope to the earth and the skies that when i find you, you'll thank your god, that you found me. That this time, the fate the gypsy told me, is the same fate, some gypsy somewhere sees for you.

My Gypsy Soul to Blame.

I've heard; 

when you get where you're going, you'll know you're there because the traveler in your heart will finally be ready for bed. 

and i'm left to wonder- 

what happens when he wakes up?