unspoken

funny thing - expectations...

they raise so much grief and disappointment,

especially when unexpressed.

how can i meet the desire

that is never articulated?

of course i am complicit, in that

two sides are there for every unspoken word.

not having mentioned formless plans

ahead of time

brings me up against the cage of our arrangement.

i am to think of you first, only, and our guests.

paying for insensitive choices - selfish behavior -

i am only just finding voice for this need,

my desire to be autonomous, unfettered.

i haven't yet expressed it.

that too leads to your disappointment,

with my failure to come straight home

to spend time hanging out with all of you...

but where is the space for you and your sister?

for her and her husband? for us to be alone?

for us to be by ourselves?

there is no room for these wishes somehow.

we all flock like moths around the glow of the baby

and it has been so good

this time, watching, holding, talking about and

loving their child.

now the house is quiet - you out on a walk -

but i hear Henry's collar jingling

announcing your return.

my time to write is swallowed up again

in noise

in your expectant attention.

© 2009

road side stand

saw a sign that read

“EAT FRUIT FOR JOY”

signs

symbols

wonders

i realized these are the impressions

that mark me on every trip

it’s the signs I look to as

the land changes around them

overthrown by our oppressive

need for convenience

just one more strip mall please

in place of these green fields

shimmering like gold in

late afternoon sun

© 8/2000

in praise of breakfast delight

smeared fingering sweet blue stains

the pan flash hot

singed cloud of butter rising

to perfume my shirt and following me

the breakfast queen

wherever i might venture tonight

it is a quick feasting fluorescent colored

cheap quasi healthful attempt

at satiety

nourishment

nurturance

with peppered bites of brilliant fry pocked

white and yellow remains

berries frozen midseason

to keep winter’s desperation at bay

saturating vanilla scented warm unleavened cakes

well lubricated syrup savory and crumbling

around the violent tines of the fork

poorly chosen transportation for this

royal pauper mouth luxury

ready and gone in less than 12 minutes

© spring 2000

gabrielle’s birthday 1997

sitting on a rickety chair on the front porch

drinking another glass of wine

i’m wearing a sundress in january

watching the light rain

inside the conversation and music

melts together with the rich smells

of food we spent three days preparing

this is another home

and an impossibly warm dream i’m living

in this city south of the Mason-Dixon

where pansies bloom all winter

the sun shines strong bringing life to me

when i would otherwise be sleeping

through the long cold months

of dreariness in my native town

rain comes again to mix with

leisurely traffic sounds and

the beating of my own heart

recognizing this moment makes

my hairs stand on end and my stomach

is ready to feast on this great day

© 1/4/97

a list from Italy

walking the dim train passage

past shadows of sleeping passengers

as we traveled back to Arezzo

a tiny lizard on the ledge along

the street in il centro historico

in Perugia

ascending five escalators up a steep hill

in the direction of the wrong train station

the sound of tiny Italian children speaking

an African street vendor flipping me off

thinking i was photographing him

rather than the two boys dribbling a soccer ball

zuppa di fagioli con grano farro at

Il Latini in Florence

dancing at the Nag’s Head Pub in Rome

with my arm around one man

and my other hand clasped discreetly

in another man’s hand

being overwhelmed by DiChirico’s painting of

Lucrezia standing above me nude and life like

a reminder of regrets over the traps of

dissatisfaction and self criticism my sister and

i share regarding our own bodies

birds flying madly courting under the trees

in the Parco della Borghese

taking a bus to the beaches of Elba

for pocket change and spending days

lazily sunning with nothing more pressing

than whatever time we felt hungry

© 5/6/01

quiet... alone

from this place i can look out over neighbors' rooftops

to the endlessly varied blue of sky

this small alcove view brings me back

to my parents' house

to my room as a teenager and young adult

to the hours i had to think, to pine and lament, to stay up

listening to music - to be alone...

what is it about this adult life that refuses the need

for quiet time alone - each day.

i rarely seek it

find it difficult to ask for

i've made a routine of life that makes it hard even

to notice the lack of it

funny to stumble on that want

as i carve out time to consider union

maybe that is the beginning

again

the desire for autonomy

privacy

to be able to choose

to share my time with another lover

other friends

without risk of causing pain the heart of my partner

how many families face collapse for lack of quiet time apart?

for no access to private enjoyment of the home...

how can i miss you if you never leave?

the room is quiet

i take a deep breath

gather up my pen and notebook and water glass

make my way downstairs

to rejoin you and our family for dinner

© 2009