THE TABLE

My great grandmother,

who spoke to leprechauns

as a girl in County Clare, Ireland,

whose voice was a song,

stood over me as I sat

beneath the dining room table

pushing a red fire truck

round and round

the table’s legs.

We made a game of

looking at each other,

while laughing uncontrollably.

I was four, she was ninety-six.

This memory is all I have of her.

The older I become I realize,

every pursuit, everything

I chase with a passion,

is an attempt

to return to this table.

THE SECRET SHARER*

I am reading a book

you gave me.

I am holding in my hands

the selfsame pages

you once held in yours.

And I pause

in the places

you once paused

with your pen.

The marks you made,

to phrases, passages,

whole paragraphs,

have me feeling

strangely,

that it is your soul

I am seeing:

that a marriage of things

wished for

was never quite consummated

in the ways imagined,

which makes me

your secret sharer.

*Inspired by David Whyte’s, The Three Marriages: 
Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship

NO PETS

They are fickle,

so fondle them with care.

They are not pets.

They are thoughts, devious

creatures that can turn

on you, just like that.

With too much attention, 
and the wrong kind,

they can master you

in an instant, and have you

on a short leash before

anyone can say the word, heel.

ACCEPTANCE

A lizard

on a rock,

still and basking

in the sun…

This is how

I want to be

with acceptance.

THE BULL RIDER

What if you only had

Eight seconds

To decide,

To make any decision

Worth making?

Eight seconds,

That’s all.

How would you ride

them bulls?

Would you

Stay on, get thrown,

Get trampled?

And how long 
would it take you

To mount 
the beast again?

THE CREATURE

If you ever catch Beauty

buck naked

in the woods,

don’t let her see you.

And for Christ sake

if you dare approach her

do not,

under any circumstance,

tell her how beautiful

she is.

She can’t hear it.

To her ears

her own beauty

in the mouth of another

is not flattery

or adoration,

but insult,

an offense

of the highest order,

that can’t be

remedied,

with apology,

or explanations

of good intention.

And no metaphor

will save the day.

When beauty

gets her ire up

she is the ugliest creature

you’ll ever see.

Don’t take her reaction

personally, though.

It has very little

to do with you.

Beauty’s own ambivalence

with being beautiful

is the issue.

It’s something

she’s never quite

learned to bear.

CUFFS

With every no

you slap

a pair

on me

when I already

have a set

that you put

there. I want

my hands back.

You have the key

to all the cuffs,

with another word

you can’t seem to say.

You know the word 

I mean,

don't you?