T-Minus 21

Dusty Morning

At least I told the truth, and yet

the truth of the matter is that none of it matters.

Reasons why, what made it die, the goodbyes-

I cry but none of the questions wash away.

It just makes mud, mudding up my mind,

making me wonder more and more: why?

I wish I had that answer.

I wish you had that answer.

I wish, as you sat there in your leather jacket

with no shirt, and me underdressed

in faded pajamas and old jeans,

I wish you could have said- or maybe I don’t.

To accept that it happened is

a challenge alone. To know why is more than

I could stand. Who, what, when, and where:

these will have to do. I’ll never accept a reason

why you can’t forgive me the way I forgave you.

The Boy That Never Was

There’s a candle in my window for

the boy who never was.

It flickers just as brightly as

the laughter in his eyes. The warmth

inside his heart is matched by nothing

but the flame, and the tiny drips

of melted wax, intricate as his mind.

The candle burns to mourn this boy,

the one I could have loved.

He may have lived - this boy, indeed.

But mine he never was.

To Tokyo, With Love

Long lost lover living out

of sight, out of mind. I find myself

forgetting how it was to lay

eyes upon you, to lay beside

the water, to feel the soft caress

of your whispered words on my

waiting ear. Lover half a world away,

I no longer remember the sharp

glint of your smile, the sensuous

depth of your laughter. All I remember

Is your impossible perfection. Absence

makes the heart grow ill, poisons

memories to be larger than

love. Stay away lover, I fear

you’ll rob me of my love for your

image. I have broken a commandment;

I idolize your memory above you.

Equations in Momentum

If one train is moving south

at sixty miles per hour and

another train is moving north

at the speed of still,

will they notice the wind

rushing between them as they pass,

or are their worlds too far apart

to make a difference?

Lone Tree - Rachel Schneider

Medium: 

Calligraphy pens on paper

Addiction

Kiss me until it’s cliché and

I’ll tell you I hate you. Drugs

will kill me. Too bad I’m addicted.

You are the lemon in my tea.

Squeeze into my wounds.

The sting makes me love you more.

Our warmth chills me to the bone.

A yarn sweater unraveling

as you pull mine off in the

backseat of your car,

idling in my empty driveway

when I get home.

This end is a beginning

for better and for worse.

Lover, I cannot stand you.

I will run from this bi-polar

love affair. Run into your arms.

Give me a kiss. Push me away.

Even the unending waves must

come and go with the tide,

pulsing steam on frozen windows.

Love and Hate

I’d never do anything to hurt you

  On the phone

at 3 AM. The line goes dead

as I wonder if I took hold of you

The way you took hold of me.

You sank into my mind

And made it your home.

  You still captivate me.

My mind is full of you

and all your empty promises.

It’s not fair that you were

Able to grab me so quickly.

You swept me up

Before I had a chance to

See what was happening.

Why do I love you?

Why don’t I hate you?

I wish I could read your mind

Just to know what you think

When I see you walk in

at 3:47, tears in my eyes,

because I know from the

scent of that jasmine perfume

just where you’ve been.

Liar

You forced a laugh and told me

You were heartless

As your head fell into your hands,

Hiding a pained smile.

I’m glad you’re a liar.

A Reaction in Four Parts

When I asked if this was what you wanted,

you wouldn’t give an answer. The cancer

of uncertainty gnaws at my muddled

mind as I look back and wonder if all

this time was just a game when I saw you

in goodnights and birthdays and holidays

and futures. What sutures do you use to

close the wounds of unanswered thoughts? Perhaps

the good is lost in the bitter flavor.

  When I asked if this was what you wanted,

you responded with anger. A stranger

emerged, unwilling to talk, to give a

glimpse of what was beyond the steely stare.

I’d praise you for your perseverance, your

unwavering commitment to this last

decision, if only I could know my

words would even be heard. No pity in

your words, to make letting go easier.

  When I asked if this was what you wanted,

there was sadness in your tone, screaming through

the words that reluctantly emerged. I

could feel that you felt the pain that you dealt,

even as you said it didn’t matter.

Your subtle silences spoke volumes. This

was special. We were special. But that can’t

matter when you know that special can not

overcome unconcluded history.

  When I asked if this was what you wanted,

you wouldn’t give an answer, because the

answer is clear: what we must do is not

always what we want.