A Schrodinger moment

I didnt read yet

the note you left

on the table last week

as you walked out the door,

letting I still love you

faintly waft in with the lilacs

from the neighbor’s yard.

.

As long as the note

stays unopened,

we stand looking both

ahead at a new beginning

and back at what is no more.

your cartography

the sun slips past the shade

to paint planes of light and shadow

across sleeping face.

.

fingertips, a protractor

measuring angles of jawline

of cheekbone

of curve under bottom lip

.

while navigating blindly

the labyrinth of heart

silver and gold

bare shoulder bathed

in the waning golden sunlight

you turn towards me

.

I’m blinded by the

sun, your smile, as my face tips

upward for a kiss

.

your arm anchoring

me to you, rocking on waves

of each sleeping breath

.

eyelashes casting

lengthy shadows across your

cheek, all tips painted

silver from the gibbous moon

hanging in our sky tonight

What you put on your plate

I brought you

freshly baked cookies,

again, when I saw you,

and you took them.

Thanked me.

Smiled.

.

Afterwards,

you pushed me away

with silence and

sparse words

magnified each time

by the number of minutes

between text messages,

every hour stating

more definitively

that you can manage

alone without me.

.

I’m just cookies

straight from the bag,

devoured on the spot.

Empty calories,

not worth the trade-off

of the other choices you picked

to fill up your plate.

.

Suggestion for a prompt from a friend…write about love and the subject line of the third junk mail in your inbox. :-). It was “stop filling your plate with empty calories’.

The ways in which we deal with anger

I brewed tea

in your grandma’s blue crystal pitcher,

setting it on the window sill

all day while I worked

until it was strong, deep

.

two spoons sugar

stirred into your glass

already sweating in the heat

before it languishes

barely tasted

on the counter

leaving watermarked rings

.

I take my tea

in hard, fast gulps

unsweetened

relishing slightly

the bitter aftertaste

lingering behind

then I rinse my cup

and put it away

the window in my living room

It is double paned glass between us –
insulation, protection in the small space
with air trapped motionless.
You see my lips moving on the other side
without hearing what I am actually saying.