Song of the introvert

When I feel my skin
All firm and fresh
Able to brave the sun and wind
Is in my home.

My home is my solitude.
So it is any land
Time or space.

My home is on a crowded street
As long as I drink my coffee alone
My home is a quiet pond
As long as no one is along.

I like my thoughts
Quiet in my head.
No need to speak.
Relate
Overthink.

My home could be a wheat field.
A cafe in Milan.
What matters is if it is my home
No one comes along.

On the side

Melted, running off the plate
Satiate
Hurry kids
Run in quick before it is too late.

grilled up slapped on bread.
On a pizza for my cheese head.
Feta mozarella and some blend.
They eat up til the end.

Cheese on watermelon? Getting weird!
Cheese strawberries worse than feared.
Throw some of the cheese into a cake
Mix it all up and watch it bake.

Cheese you’re piled in our our ice box.
More cheese than we have tiny socks.
My littles never tire of you
Munching down the whole day through.

Jumping, frying hot hot hot

Canadian Bacon past the sizzle
Jumpin round my pa
Going to scorch my tongue
Before it is all done.

Coffee hot and burning up my cup. Soaking in darken stained rings
Gotta drink that up. Kids screaming running
Bursting from their pods. Searching for pancakes
Buttered up
Still steaming.
In and out.

Breakfast time my house so alive.
Dancing to a jam

Morning hour
Those jumping hopping kids
They gotta be contagious.

Ode to sleep

Ah sleep

You know me so well. The lines I enjoy
From the creases of satin pillow.
Oh sleep
How I love the feel of you pulling me from screens
Deep into my blanket fort world.
Oh sleep.
My muse. Bringer of dreams. Bringer of the
End of sore muscle cramps.
At leat a few hours.
Sweet sleep
Sometimes I evade you
Drinking swirls of black coffee- just a dash of milk.
I stay up
Writing poems

Ack!

But gentle sleep will embrace my return.
Wrap me in a blanket.
Cushion my head
Lull my heavy eyes to sleep.
I miss you my mistress. My sleep.

Night walks

Once I was a bit witchy
I wrote 8 on papers
Chanted dreams in mirrors.
Held my 8’s on scraps of paper up to the moon.
I burnt them up
And wished more.

As a witch I strolled under the moon
Needing it on my skin
Like I need the sun today.
The streets were empty
Sidewalks empty
Weeds on full alert
Tall as soldiers

I lost my magic
Ex witch
Now I sit inside or slave under the sun
Sweating
Breathing hard
Pulse on fire
And wishes?
They no longer come true.

I am a mom of 6
Triplets
A singleton
Twins
1 2 3 it:s easy you see
Actually
It is never easy.

My marriages are like my kids
1 2 2
Also
Never easy

Back in school
Student again.
Was a therapist
Was an unlicensed teacher
Now a Harvard Degree candidate.

I barely remember me
Pre kid me
I traveled a bit.
Ate out a lot.

I miss memory me.
I miss when my name was more than mom.

Void

Shhhh

He never listens.
Cuts me off backs me up
Into a corner
Lines up the next verbal punch.

I ask again:

Is it ok to just not answer someone?
If they ask you directly.

I get more non answers.
A swerve.
He thinks he is right.
A dodge.
I won’t agree.
A hit.
He won’t compromise, so why speak.

I can’t do thia.
He never
Shuts up.
And listens.

He talks over me
Around me
Through me
And if none of that works
Ignores me
Completely.

It is marriage.
It is assault and battery
With language as a weapon.

Isolation

A joy on a busy New York
Pulling over
Put of the crowd
Unnoticed
To dine alone
Book on hand
While thousands flow by
Ignoring me.

Heaven.

Having a baby is rough.
Everyone sees the baby.

Twins is worse.

Triplets impossible.

Everywhere with a giant yellow wagon.
All eyes on it.
All mouths gaping.

There is no more
Disappearing act.
There is no more New York magic.

Garlic cloves

Whenever he wants attention
He slides over
Garlic.

It isn’t his breath.
That is mint
Listerine.

Can garlic seep out of hair?
She slides a hand though it
Trying to solve the puzzle.

The hair is more an oil.
The clothes a musty fog.

Skin.
His skin smells like a clove.

She fakes a yawn.
Giant stretch
Slight moan
A snap of joints as she slips
Into bed.

For now it is all Gain
Like a sweetened bouquet
Sprayed with sugar.
And something else now.

What is that?
Onion?
No. Garlic.

Garlic sending fields of flowers.

Rainy wedding day

I had already said yes
Under the Brooklyn Bridge
A sunny day
Where my face melted away
Leaving my hidden skin
Uncovered
Beneath.

We stood,
Arguing
Drenched in rain
Unable to agree
About having kids
Now that the rings were dispersed
Vows uttered.

He asked if I wanted my key back.

We drank instead
Until 4 am
And Irish step danced
And drank more
And barely could got in the car home.

Later
The beatings
Later
More drinking
Later
Abandoned
Pregnant.
Homeless.

One missed answer.
It should have been yes.

Do you just want your key back?

Yes.

Do you want me to turn and leave while we annul this mess?

Yes.

Yes.

After a year I did get my life back.
Somewhat.
But I never got
That damn key.

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