Worry Beads
And sometimes I wish
that it was of my own doing,
the moving from beyond the scorch
of the harsh California sun.
I wish it was not you
who reminded me of gentleness,
of warm hands and the cold nip
of New England’s soothing kiss.
If it had been all of my own,
I could cut the cords of my emotion
stringing me back in
(hook, line, and sinker...)
to a bubble of “but”s and “what if”s
and “if only”s.
And sometimes I wish
I never opened myself with the force of the blizzard
that brought our passionate energies to combination.
Never allowed myself to feel the calm in your voice
and allow my thoughts, my dreams, and all of my insides
to come tumbling out with the roaring snow.
I still had the nerves to catch myself,
and keep me close to chest
wrapped in caution tape
in perseveration’s last attempt.
And sometimes I wish
I had been more careful with myself,
instead of flinging Pandora’s box wide open
that night in your car.
That night that kissed oblivion and abyss at once.
That night that painted us in black and white silver screen dreams.
That night I came into you
spilling and pouring and emptying.
They say it is better
to box beautiful memories as a reminder
of the love you once had
and the laughter you once projected
and the feelings you once reveled in.
But sometimes I wish
I kept everything to all of me.
Kept all of me to all of me
to begin with.