Tuesday, May. 18, 2004 @ 12:46 am
The iris, velvet purple tongue
Deeply intimate, lapping up the sky.
Shy buttercups peek
Through the freshly mowed lawn.
Cheeky rhododendron flowers
Flicking their many skinny feelers.
Sunday morning, sleeping house, sticky empties on the deck and me tying my shoes. Jogging the cemetary, feeling an intense sadness, self absorbed woe.
Standing in the living room watching him sleep on the couch. Not with me. Not cuddling me. We both slept alone and I shook with the longing for warmth and touch. The sweat beads on my back, he stirs, I quickly head to the shower.
Brunch, rolleblading, lighthouses. Heavy warm air, moist, lazy May days. The weekend is a dory rowing silently though the lagoon. Even the dragonflies rest on the oarlocks and gunwhales.
The sadness follows me into Monday, into work. Slow with the mice, it hurts to lock them up in those little cages. Pleading eyes. Two-week old pups, when taken in handfuls, first spring like popcorn from your grasp. But then they see the height and cling to you, little hands gripping the latex, their bodies low to your fingers and palm.
On days like these I shun the mirror. I delve into the real friends and into my camera, finding small things to fill those empty haunting corners.
"You've been so up-and-down lately," she tells me.
I know. I know. It's all foreshadowing something important and interesting.