Spoon

A limbless acrobat arching its handle spine

on the hard wood of the table,

bowing perfectly from the base of

a delicate neck to the tailbone.

Curved like a body yearning for another to hold,

just two ribcages apart,

the metal muscles frozen tense and waiting.

An oblong face like a basin mirror

distorting upside down reflections

and pulling them inward into still life.

A handheld funhouse mirror.

A little dipper that in a child’s hand

will fling alphabet soup like stars

into constellations on the ceiling sky. 

I Wish You Had Heard Me Sing

I wish so much that you had heard me sing

When I tipped back my head and listened to the throaty melody echo in the stars,

Soaring up note by note with its own harmony made by the notes striking each other in the air, moments apart, but together infinite.

And they were dancing waltzes of every dream I’ve ever had and it was so sad to see them fall back to the ground after watching them go around and around to the one, two, three of freedom.

I wish you had been there to hear my voice take flight and leave my throat for the night to bounce back off of the moon and fall amongst the stars, shining with them as a soft echo, the sound like their light.

But I have no witnesses for my magic trick, and it seems that at that moment I was never more myself than when I left myself and let me be something else. I wish you had seen me… soaring up note by note, harmony striking itself in the air.

A world apart, but infinite. 

Love

If I have learned anything, it is that

Love is not what they say it is.

It is not what I have been told or shown and I have been lied to.

Whether it an outright deception or a case of omission, I cannot tell.

For the love that I have known has, in brief and rare instances, vaguely resembled that in movies, songs and fairytales,

And yet there is so much never seen, sung or written of

That no one ever warned me about.