His seasons

and her pause, like the edge
of autumn’s breathing, when she feels
the freeze will come
and all that dry hope is piled
neatly at the curb.
Because she knows it,
the sudden storms,
the way he shakes the house, how
she hears the rumble
and starts to count. Knows
she no longer asks herself
which is worse,

the peeling and the glare,
the burn of constant exposure
or
the grey damp silence
reaching bone.

How she’ll still put on
her floral dress, pockets
ripped away, and water
her salted garden.

Cement

I want to lie down, melt
into the rough grey cement
of the supermarket sidewalk.
There between the hardened wads of bubble gum
and the fluorescent trickles of dog urine
I will reside, singing blithely
with the shopping carts squealing
like piglets at the slaughter.
Cooled by the heavenly shade
of the newspaper machines and the super bounce balls,
both offering more than they can deliver,
I will stretch out and accept my fate.
All this,
not to once again face the bubbling asphalt sea
with my battered vessel,
and return to you.

I dare you

to love me,
me with the needy eyes and the untamed hair,
your forget-me-nots slowly dying on the sill.
The sun slips through the littered room exposing
half-read books, half-bitten nails and there I am
hoping you’ll embrace the crumpled sheets
and crumbs.

Though my ears are filled with siren song
and my mouth spews wildfire, my nimble fingers
could make daisy chains with your body
if I just learned to sit still.
And I would swallow constellations, dot
the stars along your hairline and dance
in Taurus’ obliging twinkle.

But then
there are those long pauses waiting
to breathe, my weakness lying around us
like scorched earth, just to see if you’ll jump.
And there’s so little left that doesn’t ache
that I dare you
to find me
before I turn to ash.