that empty chair where you used to sit,
that empty space that you filled,
that empty bowl that once carried peas from the garden–
that empty moment is filled and overflowing with emptiness
Emptiness
Tag Archives: black and white
The Rain
the thunder rolled over the hills as the rain pelted us with fat water bullets, bending and suspending themselves like wet, safety nets
Old Things That I Like: 2
cars from the 1930’s and 40’s
bottles filled with buttons
objects found in abandoned buildings
jelly jars as glasses
lockets with locks of hair
stamps on yellowed envelopes
chipped pitchers holding fragrant lilacs
photos in cigar boxes
rolodex rotary files
steamer trunks with hand lettering
thick, tall maples
bibles with scribbled family trees
barns on the pennsylvania countryside
Five Words: One Week: 5
promises and sunlit wishes linger
Longing
it was the emptiness of your gaze,
and the tilt of your head
that made a melancholy blanket of longing
linger past midnight and into the following day
The Fence
exposed,
the fence’s tears
welcomed the quickening thaw
Horizon
we turn away,
walk away,
run away
toward the horizon in our minds
White
Oh, I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white
from the song, White Christmas, by Irving Berlin, 1942
Evidence
left behind
Recently
The Samurai’s Garden by Gail Tsukiyama
candles that smell like apples
chocolate brioche
sleeping with the windows open
Gold Dust by Tori Amos
peppermint tea
long streaks of sun
a room of mannequins
yellow crysanthemums
three butterflies
a canadian dime
artful trivets
warm pumpkin soup
the kindness of strangers
