smoked unfiltered cigarettes

down to the end

through yellowed fingers

stuffed them out

in a glass ashtray

lit another

#poem #poetry #memoir #memories

At least it was quiet

that night, my parents’

perpetual fighting

on hold until morning,

the fan in my bedroom

barely stirring the heavy

air. Sweat pooled

on my upper lip, trickled

down my back. You came

to my window

quietly calling out

to me, hoping I would sneak

outside with you, like we had planned,

but I was afraid. I remember the long

walks we took almost every

day that summer,

past the row houses,

up and down the steep hills,

and through the housing project.

We meshed because I was a quiet

weakling and you were a loudmouthed

fighter. Your mother always sat

at the kitchen window with a coffee cup

full of beer. She fooled most people,

but you to me

the truth. Walking was

our purification. Our way

to numb ourselves,

our second chance.

#poem #poetry #secondchance

This should have been

your poem, something

with trout fishing

and the Big Dipper.

I tried but I couldn’t

force it-words

that you would have

cherished flexed

their sinewy muscles,

then flew away

like comets,

leaving no trace.

#poems #poetry #lovepoems #love

They razed a Project

in our neighbor-

hood, and the ghosts

awakened, moaning and crying,

dark circles under their eyes, tattered

clothes, the same ones they had worn

before. In life they had done nothing

wrong, but they had done nothing

right. Seeds were never

sown. Purple iris bulbs blossomed

every Spring in the back-

yard where we played, where the cinder

blocks and metal grate served

as a barbecue grill, and the hedges

mimicked a maze that no one

could navigate. There was the ghost

of a car on its side at the base

of a bridge, and another—smoke-filled—

windows shut tight, the graveyard

where your broken eyes

wept, and the tears flowed into a wide

river. I’ve lived a ghost-

filled life, strewn with iris

petals, but after a while

the irises refused

to blossom.

the wind blows

leaves rustle around my heart

leaves in reds and oranges

I wonder where you spend your days

how you veil your nights

I am drowning in heartache,

in the leaves

now lying on the ground,

and in your eyes

that tell only the truth

nothing in the ground

is ever noticed,

so I cannot

say goodbye.

the road turns.

we find ourselves

under the thick shade

of youth, we cannot

predict what will happen,

we can only wait--

trusting night will come

and the stars will shine

like lightning in your eyes

he sits by the window

smoking a cigarette

she doesn't know what to

say to him

it's always the same:

the smoke

mingling heavily

with the air

and the silence

you are like

the heather that

bends in the breeze

never breaking

I grasp it

and touch it softly

and love

yields to us

yellow is the color

of faraway moonlight,

the color of daffodils that stand

tall in an open field,

the color of joy

that whispers in your ear

at first, then grabs ahold

of you and won't

let go