side note

indecisive and insecure 

I am on an edge 

no cliff nor rooftop 

from which to leap 

more marginal  

more like myself 

a collection of questions 

laced down a ragged page 

I take a moment 

to pull myself close 

to gather myself 

into a tighter pile 

of misunderstandings 

to tie myself to a series 

of questionable knots 

strung across the night 

with a sense of frivolity 

like lights at a garden party 

or a noose in a lonesome room 

swinging beneath a bare bulb 

(March 25, 2021)


At home, they sit across from each other

like a pair of stone-silent gargoyles, when

he sighs to himself as if with remorse.

Looking up, she asks, out of politeness,

“Is something wrong?”  He shakes his head, and says, 

embarrassed that he had spoken out loud,

“Oh, Nothing, just thinking, at least nothing

important enough to say:  just thinking.” 

They watch each other with a quiet calm 

like the still center of a raging storm; 

each happy enough at home not to stir 

up any conversations to avoid. 

Slowly, they fall into their silences,  

starkly alone with their thoughts together. 

(April 18, 2019)


“I would always rather be happy than dignified.”
                                    –Charlotte Bronte
He waits patiently in the parlor
like a forgotten Sunday suitor
as the yellow afternoon drapes
the room in dusty silence.
There is no dignity in sadness,
just sadness, a complacent yawn
alone.  He peers from the window;
as the day’s shadows grow deep.
Violently trimmed to partially fit,
he forces his wings into a box,
so they no longer can do harm,
then walks across the room
to sweep feathers from the floor.

(October 31, 2016)