Firestone Friday: Poem XVIII

You speak

different languages

between

the morning

and

the night,

and I love

the way

my name

sounds

in every

single

one

of them.

(Happy Valentine’s Day.)

Cold Embrace

Standing

in the

brutal air

of a blizzard,

I think,

longingly,

how

unexpectedly

fortunate

the flakes are

to have fallen

where you sit,

caressing you

as they descend.

Startled,

I look down

to find myself

standing

in a pool of water;

the snow has melted.

On the Future

I hope

you never

ask me

how you look.

How ridiculous

is it

going to be

when

” like my future”

comes out

before I can

stop it?

Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XIII

People tell me

they don’t get

poetry.

I want

to tell them

if they’ve ever

fallen asleep

with a

broken heart

or cried

as their child

wrapped their hand

around their fingers

for the first time,

they not only

understand poetry:

they’ve been

living it

for years.