All That Wasn't

forever, together
you grace my hall

mother and daughter;
the ancient pain captured,
a reckless lens

her olive skin, charcoal skirt, wool beret,
dark as the black-shadowed porch,
play negative to the light of you;
a ruffled white cotton pinafore,
blond curls, pale skin,
bright patent shoes

your sad pose betrays,
arms, elbows, knees in tight;
her slender finger
grazes your shoulder,
an uncertain reflex
tenuous claim

chin down, her turned head
smiles shy with sorrow;
lips pinch, brows furrow,
your focus on a mystery, distant

beside you, a sidewalk beckons;
late fall trees expose an exit,
foreshadow hers, too early

this faded snapshot a
record of all you
do and do not know

It Has to be Enough

She wears scars visible;
her tattoed heart-on-sleeve
inaccessible, in spite of

she maintains
distance, physical
and otherwise;
the intimate us
breathes in text
transmitted by
an unseen,
ghostly wire

I throw myself at her
to pull her to a safer self;
like a life buoy, I do
more harm than intended

To meet seems dangerous;
I wait to for an invitation
and wonder who cornered whom

she talks a round of talk;
I navigate the untangling,
direct us, spiral down to
a black-muck rotten bottom
we somewhat share

her trust has its limits;
I stay when she asks
and leave when she doesn't

Heather Reed 2011

Lucky

last night ended later than intended
as we talked in abstracts
of our longer, slower walk
through self-planted land mines

acknowledged egoic needs,
insecurities, petty competition;
all of the sad, mistaken loss

tethered to the lead
of a winding self-imposed
need for safety, our fears
as well-fingered as a
remembered blanket’s
satin-frayed edge

our conversations
erode the old stories,
purge pain with every word
spit like soot from our souls

shared, it dissolves into
an atmosphere cleansed
by an understanding of;
our familiar, similar selves
aligned and connected

we are lucky we have us

I'd Rather Live Like

we do not go days

without words

ours an immediate,

spontaneous combustion

fueled by rubbish from

internal basements

the windows are open;

our neighbors hear,

we wrestle on
shamelessly, inevitably

rage rests painful
in our throats, our
anger a shift in plates

that can no longer

bear the strain

we push into it,
armed, fierce;
our separate truths
skewed, accurate,
faulty, telling

we emerge
spent warriors
who seek peace

washed clean;
reconcilled,
unshakeable

Succubus

she made love like a scientist
lowering hips on pulleys
strung with words and alcohol

right there, baby
she busied you

examined every pock scar,
freckle, flecked iris,
traced ballpoint-lettered l-o-v-e
spelled across knuckles
indifferent to the word

fingers kneaded flesh, begging
her hot breath like ether,
thighs a silken vise;
she took her samples

she entered through skin,
topical on your tongue
two days later

Dreaming on Flu Meds

again, with you

my subconscious
intoxicated, trapped
in a late-night, corner booth

allowed, inserted
between you and an
other of indistinct face

(have I been
so easily replaced)

you are an ancient, 

like the ripped vinyl 

jagged and sticky

the naked, barest bits 

suffer as my 

awkward self escapes 

all the reluctant agony 

cries me to wake;
I do battle with
tangled, weeping sheets

Her Survival

she will not ask

hers a breath trapped; 

the remnants of a girl

threadbare at the 

bottom of a sagging, 

weary bag worn thin 

on the stairs at 3 am; 

an adult understanding

of her prepubsecent

dependence kept her 

in her mind, running 

into the dark street, 

towards another 

circumstance 

pleading with no one 

to flee the breakdowns, 

instability of fear, 

disintegration of 

all she had trusted 

do not deny her 

the necessary fences; 

erected before they 

could argue

she will not easily 

let them fall; 

hers, survival 

Origami

I have folded too many times
into pleasing, useful shapes

All you had to do was all you ever did;

I assumed the positions

Tangled fibers fail;

wearied with the work 

of false bravado

I become a useless scrap, 

creased and flimsy;   

to disintegrate before you

the only thing left to do

Wild Humans

in the light of dark
eyes make sense
like words do

lips to ear, each
breath whispered
a skeleton key
to waking puzzles

tongues travel,
translating; the
foreign familiar

fingers trace
remembered paths
sightless, well-worn

permeable skins
swap bliss
sighs speak
native tongues

in the dark of light 

eyelids shut
like doors

words tangle 

like static
over lines unseen

mind arrives to
numb instinct,
wrestles for control

bliss flees

retreats to far, 

inner corners

lonely, longing

(again) 

Drafts May Appear...

Dear blog friends,

From now on, I've decided my blog will be a work in progress.  The luxury of not being published is that I have the option to revisit my poems; which is actually quite nice, because occassionally I think they are better for it.

So, for the multiudes who visit this blog (all 2 or 3 of you, and yes, I'm smiling) from this point forward, let it be known that I shall identify work in draft format.  Comments are welcome, always.

This decree is dedicated to me in the hope that I will more actively pursue editing, adding, and crafting these poems.  Thanks for stopping by. ;>

Going About it the Wrong Way

Love presented meager; 

small bills peeled 

from thick rolls

rubber-band protected

the reticent benevolence, 

gracious granting favor; 

double-standard disapproval, 

disciplinary withholding

a short attention span 

consistent, predictable; 

disregard for

genetic, familial

cause for provocation; 

our frenetic dance of 

perseverance and sabotage

totemic behavior 

vested more in self than other; 

the return on investment, 

coffers rich with fear 

:hrr 081609

Memory Indulges

hands at 10 and 12

her bare knees small

to one amused;

love-drunk as

13-year locusts

singing on the windshield

the yellow suit strap,

damp, twisted;

her sanded shoulder

apricot-round on

flattened grass,

lips like sleepy

curled leaves

a nocturnal chit-chat

of insects, other mammals;

the wind-swept water slap

at fevered limbs,

hungry fish nibbles

like skeletons scratching ankles

press of teeth to throat,

the fragrant skin smile;

an empty window witness

to their bright embrace

not meant to last;

memory indulges

an indifferent end to,

the intoxication of firsts;

reality a sooty, metallic

screen left hanging at

summer's end

Upside Down

snowballs drop from
curled leaves, budded branches
rapid-fire, round, whole;
an upside-down battle
done by unseen hands

he finds reason not to
this unusual morning

across snow-filled streets
her white shoulders slope,
drop disappointment

the struggle ensues;
logic falls dogged and persistent,
visible to her as breath on
windows watching snow

:hrr 031509

What do you know? I am reading an extraordinary book and witnessed something today that prompted me to write. I think Elizabeth Gilbert's "TED Talk" did me some good as well.

Oh, the book I am reading is called "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss. Beautiful quote from the book re: being human: "At that moment, overcome with the tender brutality of physical existence with 'the insoluble contradiction of being animals cursed with self-reflection, and moral beings cursed with animal instincts' - Jacob launches into a lament..."

I'm going to start showing up. ;>