Rain and the ability to cope
Sitting here waiting for the predicted rain.
It’s early enough in the afternoon for hope.
I like rain sometimes, especially when
it’s too bonechilling to go outside. It calms me
and helps me concentrate on the here, the now,
the trivial. That’s important sometimes.
After all, I have the quirky card you sent
on our first anniversary close by. With a duck
on the cover, our inside joke. It will remain inside
as I do, daunted by the rain. Or maybe dependent
on the rain, lulling me softly away from thoughts
of sunny days spent sitting quietly on the deck with you.
Pneumonia and rejection
I dream amethysts blooming in the night sky.
Purple on black, canvas of bruise
so slow to show its true colors. Even the beautiful
seems extraneous and unreachable.
I’m starting to catch my breath
in this slow recovery but I can’t catch up
with what it is to be without her.
I never wanted any of this, disease
or dispossession. For now, I’ll think
of amethysts and the impenetrable dark
and hold on to whatever remains
of this bruise of a dream.
Out of the comfort zone
A strange life broken out
as if from underwater
leans into a wind
that even you staving off hurricanes
find unusual. A drink or two
never hurt anybody,
but you have to find your way
slashing the waves
sober until this phase is over.
The view would astonish
if you could find courage
and strength to see it,
without fear crawling under you
like a sea snake, nestling up to you
like a rabid dog. You gulp a breath or two
before drowning, glance
at your reserves and it looks
like what you have left
is hell in a suitcase.