Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Waiting For Spring

In the dreary winter morning light
the blue sheets on my bed looked like an ocean
and floating there were books
some started, some waiting and others
near the end their secrets about to unfold themselves to me
The little gray cat that loves me
was lingering at the end of the bed
like a gargoyle surveying all below him
You were there with me as you are in most anything I do
Those secret thoughts that a woman can hide
because a woman's heart is stronger it always had to be
You put on a brave face like those sparrows looking for grass seeds in January
and when you aren't where I expect you to be
I will swallow the lump of worry and wait

I can hear your voice today like a song that plays over and over
when you've just heard a part of it
not the voice the world hears, that tender almost whisper voice
I get to hear and it's lovely
it keeps me warm you see when winter just lingers
like a scraped knee, pain, not enough to alarm
just enough to remind you it's not going away
and you aren't here to scoff at a scraped knee
shake your head and laugh thinking I am drama
when I dont have to be and stoic when I should fall to my knees

Next week when I am at the market waiting in line
wondering if I needed four more things to push me
into the line of never ending items
you will be with me and we will be dancing on the mall
to a lingering tune we can only hear
and the great monuments will be our tomb of sort
celebrating love and bravery and affection so rare
you'd look for it
and if I had a broken arm and you had a broken arm
people would think our happiness was generated by the crashing of bones
and soon everyone would have a broken arm
falling intentionally out of leafless trees
wanting to be us happily twirling
the cares of the world left to the world who seldom cares
about two such dancing creatures
and men will wonder, why does she look at him so dearly?
while women slip their numbers in his pocket
I will be glad being a tiny bit
the ever silent devoted actress

There are days when I am waiting for us to push into the next life
where time is an unlimited commodity like grass
or summer ants or late fall bees buzzing about
filling our head with ideas of what to do with those lingering moments
and we on the St. Germaine in some small cafe
crunching croissants your hair in a state of unrest
and not caring at all
lovers you see they are always in a state of half dressed
half combed
half done
half happy
half inside me keeping me there on the edge of time
full of want
I miss Spring today and I will repeat it a few times because
I'm not allowed to say I miss you
and if I did, if I were brave enough to break down
and plant some seeds in frozen earth
would you find me and assure me there is a time and place for everything
in that voice that makes me want to believe
that you not only carry my heart in your pocket
but also the secrets of Spring.

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