Saturday, July 18, 2009


I would encourage you if you haven't written a poem to put paper to pen. I actually prefer the computer because I can type fast and my fingers tend to keep up with my head. However, this poses another problem as there is never a filter. My filter, my dam, my governing body is weak. Oui Monsieur my guard between my brain and my mouth is weaker than Paris Hilton's hymen. I am not a nervous person mind you but when I am around a man that makes me nervous and my knees feel weak and I start to glance around for an easy exit. I am speaking to you women here; you know the men I speak of, the men of confidence and grace who make you feel at ease, but not really. They walk with a little swagger. Carly Simon wrote songs about men like this. They do interesting mysterious things like build bridges and then they do the mundane and borderline silly, like golf.

I talk a million miles a minute unless of course I am tired or trying to explain something, slowly. So this anxious girl when around someone that makes her nervous starts to get fidgety and always yes always wondering why did I put myself in this position? Why didn't I just stick with easy, easy is everywhere. This is why, when one of those confident, interesting men takes you for a walk with them, when they accept the invite for adventure or initiate it it will shine a light in places you've never been. They will teach you things you can't learn in books like how to negoiate a deal so the other side thinks they've won but all the time, all the while you know you did. HE can be the cool calm waters that giggles when you are spinning and then makes the world quiet. Tricky can do that. I'll be in tears about the kid, about work, about being overwhelmed and he just says "what's wrong baby?" the world is good again. It's all manageable.

I remember being in nyc on a visit unable to figure out any truth that is in my heart or the world and one of those confident men put it all in perspective for me "all the planning you do is all about enjoying right now." I think I am growing up though as recently I was anxious about my son who is in college coming home for an unspecified time period. I called Best Friend and she texted then called him and called me to let me know "you heard it wrong he'll just be around a few days." Either he changed his plans when she called or I did hear it wrong. Either works for me just fine. I let her fix it. It's so hard to let anyone fix anything isn't it? Will they make it worse? Will they wonder why it's so easy for them and yet so difficult for me? When we are supposed to crawl we can't wait to run. When we are running, the safety seems to crawl. Such is life.

So, I wrote this poem and wanted to share it with the world..

Yes Sir
A woman giving me a peculiar look
approached me in the park today
she asked me why I was collecting bits of dirt
dropping them in my coat pocket

"I am stealing a heart." I explained to her
"In the dirt?"
How do I tell her of my plan?
I find only the darkest richest pieces of soil
break them up in my hand and line my pocket

In a few days I'll see him again
and after we make love
we've made love three times now
Well perhaps twice
the first time tender and slow and sweet
and the second rough and hard
taking me over and over
and the third distant and achingly strange

Never once an utterance of an I love you
never once a chink
just a smile and a scrambled egg
a grunt and a jerk and a whisper of a groan
but no poetry
no lingering
no song
a call a few days later and an invite to dinner

Tonight I will steal his heart I tell her
I will wear the right thing
I will hold my head at the perfect tilt
when he brushes the back of his hand against my chin
I will remember those tiny touches
be quiet and careful
And after the dancing
after the shyly undressing
when he is finally laying still in the dark
and I am playing with his hair
watching his chest rise and fall
I will whisper a spell and with one deep breath
his heart will fly from his mouth and I will
be waiting, watch the red thing still beating
fly through the air and have it in my hand

He won't miss this neglected organ
it will make for an improved golf swing
he'll celebrate it's departure because
there are many women and they are all similar
similar in want and similar in pain
their shame on one sleeve, their heart on the other
she makes a great lasagna and
the other keeps a tidy house
One sky dives another paints lighthouses by the sea
her hair flying and smelling of salt

When he isn't looking I will nestle that heart
in my coat pocket sitting in the rich soil
from the park the park where children play
their musings heard long after they've gone home for supper
with dirty little hands

I will water the living thing
feed it chips of chocolate using the foil wrappers
to reflect the sun, keep it warm
and when I am waiting for the bus I will whisper this stow away heart
some poetry
sing it old elton john songs
"You can tell everybody this is your song"
And the very moment he is thanking the gods
for curing him of his ridiculous obsession with love
when he's hit a hole in one
when he's made the brunette with the cute over bite scream
and bite her lip
I'll call and arrange for dinner
I'll cook a ham because most people don't know there are magic spices in ham

And when he's sleeping I will slip it back now bigger
pumping chocolate
and poetry
and afternoons in the herb garden
the arteries full of little dybek stories
and shakespeare sonnets
and the smell of lilacs
Sandburg's Rootabaga story about the
white horse girl and the blue wind boy

For him
with a missing heart
Life will move right along at the pace life moves
Crumpled calendar pages
filled with little notes
the dry cleaning receipts piled on the counter
its almost time for the sports illustrated bikini girl issue
the playoffs are next week
they've hired a new blond receptionist who smiles quickly
when he walks by

and then in the middle of a meeting
he will pause and feel a pain
a little something from his chest
climb up through his throat
past those lips the soft lips
women love against their ear
a green vine out through his teeth
and a giant lilly, white with a yellow eye will appear
the meeting will stop
some will clap inside
the little lawyer he brushes off with a glance
will giggle and for a few days
the world will admire the heart flower
he wears on his sleeve that opens bright when he passes the park
the whole world will see what I saw one afternoon
when his eye caught mine
and whispered, Yes Sir.

If you haven't been nervous lately, I'd advise it. Define the space in your head where nervous lives and take a visit. Pack lightly you won't stay long. I didn't. I told best friend once that she shouldn't run for the bus, "another will be along in no less than an hour." Chasing parked cars breaks your nose and I like my nose just fine. Nervous will inspire you to write poetry. It will keep you in bed a little longer in the morning trying to separate out the bird's songs. Nervous will make you look up a new recipe and will give you inspiration to paint something. There are no monsters under the bed just those that live in the dark recesses of our heart. Everything's been done I tell myself, there are no surprises. The sun will rise tomorrow and because of best friend and the way she loves me, my child won't be home for four weeks. Life is good.

If you like to find me you can at You can find my work, as always at the fabulous etsy;

It's raining.


1 comment:

Bud said...

Some say death
Ends that which
We know

Others speak of hell
Of what they speak

Then there are those
Smiling Free
The secret understood