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I apologize for the sporadic posts. I was great at posting multiple times a week when I first started this blog. I still get up at four each morning to write, although I will admit that being a mental health therapist at the height of pandemic takes its toll, especially in a state, right now, that has one of the highest rates of infection. My caseload has grown, clients are making every appointment, and my energy sometimes is just drained at the end of the day. I remain committed to the muses though. One would think in the times we live, there’s a lot to write about and there is definitely material. I just finished a collection of new poems, and I’m super proud of the collection. It’s taken almost two years to craft. I’m finishing editing the poems right now. I’ve also started writing a new collection, so I’m writing a lot. After finishing this last collection, which is very different than anything I’ve done, I’m excited to start sharing them on here. There’s always that part of someone as a writer, or any sort of artist, I guess, that has to accept the day when they let ‘their babies out into the world.’ You want it to be great and you know once you put it out there, it belongs to the world. Also, I have some special dates that I want to release the poems on coming up! I always envisioned starting with a certain poem and the date actually goes with the stars, so, however eager I get, I am keeping a promise to myself not to let anything slip before that date. What’s interesting about the collection is that I started writing it shortly after moving back to the city. It’s named after the square in the city where I live. When I started writing it, I had no idea how every idea would be squeezed out of that neighborhood. I wasn’t expecting to be confined to my tiny apartment for months, looking out the window wondering about what I could write about. In that, new topics emerged. I continued writing through the pandemic, but I never read what came before until a few weeks ago when I wrote the last poem and determined I was going to start editing. When I did, I barely recognized my own writing. It also takes on an unusual sequence (and maybe it’s just me knowing), but I think it’s there, that there’s a point where you can almost feel when the pandemic starts just through the poems (which don’t specifically mention it until much later). The poems go from outside in the square to more inside the apartment, my head… So, that’s a preview of what’s to come. The poem I’m sharing today is a love poem. I also wrote it while living in the Redwoods for four months or so. I’ve written many love poems, this one still has a burn to it. Years later I remember writing it. I hope you enjoy it.


You will return
forgetting dinner
huddled in your mother’s favorite quilt,
wearing the same flesh,
perspiring the same baffling conflict,
making blue a new color to me.

All your evicted flaws will be handed to me,
a bouquet of sweet Black Eyed Susan’s,
lonely as a poached orchid
at a roadside stand on a Florida back highway
you will be.

The nothing from your lips will shred me

into tiny confetti pieces that only promise
to stain the pristine white of every room of my being
that I decorated colorless for a reason
after you left.

I cannot deny you as the water in the vase
my dry stem has been searching for.

The unbreakable cookie jar finally filled, you appear
gnashing my hours, my skin,
my palpable heart.

Like Redwood
you cannot burn me on the outside.
You’ll just singe right through the middle
burning me at my core.

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