Better Days, Greater Love

I hold for you
tenderness;
a warm amethyst crystal
in my left palm,
glowing with power,
promising balance and peace.

How can I write what you have been to me?
Little of what I wanted and yet everything
all at once.
How could I measure the weight of your mouth
on my belly,
speaking to the unborn beauty I carried there?
I find it impossible to regret what Life brought me
just because I was angered
by what it took in exchange.

Tenderness in my heart and soul
wells up
at the sound of your mighty voice,
I will you to feel it across this VOIP connection,
knowing it doesn't make right
what has gone wrong in your Life.

I wish this tenderness could go back in time
and change everything,
making me long to wrap you in my arms,
cradled, like the 2 year-old I chose to Love completely
instead of you.

My love may seem almost useless to you now,
separated by 850 miles and too many years
of unfulfilled desires;
I can do no more than stand for you.

Looking out across my backyard
listening to the clacking keys of teenage homework
in the background of your pain,
I would have this far away Love be as sustenance,
a force to hold you up
until a greater Love finds you.

Love Note

I want to write
you
a
Love letter.

Just a word
from my heart to say
how warm
and safe
and easy
Life is
when I am in your arms.

Some message that could convey
my heart's fullness,
my mind's stillness
and the depth of my laugh
when you are in the room.

I wish words would rise
powerful,
like the blood red sunrise
that graces your balcony,
and fill this page
with rhythm and meaning
enough.

But these
simple common words
are all that will flow
from my fingertips...

Dearheart,
I Love you
everyday,
forever.


Update:

Have I mentioned how much better I feel since I started walking? It's wonderful! I sleep better at night, my appetite has decreased and those endorphins are priceless. Today I did a mere 4 mi and I'm completely energized for the workday ahead (yes, it's Sunday and I'll be working, just like yesterday). I started this journey because I wanted to support breast cancer research and, even though I couldn't make the event this weekend, I did raise a good bit of money and created a very good habit for myself.

Now to keep it going!

I've decided to sign up for the 3-day event next year to keep myself motivated. Every year, I discover another woman in my circle who has/is battling breast cancer. So, every year I want to stand up for them (and my Dad's memory). In addition, my cousin Evlynne, who is a fitness consultant/trainer and club manager had hip surgery last week and asked her friends and family to up their workouts as a way of supporting her recovery. So, rattling around in my head had been this slow, steady running program to which I've been afraid to commit. For Evlynne (and for me), tomorrow starts my journey into the run. I don't know if I'll like it, be good at it or have the physical stamina to do it but, tomorrow morning I'll find out.

I figure, even if I hate it, I can commit to doing it until she is back in the swing of things (about 12 weeks) and that should be long enough to push past my anxieties and know if it's a practice I want to continue. While I'm on that journey I will continue to walk on the weekend. I'd like to get in 8 - 10 miles over one or two days.

I have discovered that I enjoy long walks with friends or my iPod; early morning or late evening sky changes, the call of birds and sounds of whatever city I am in floating around me. I feel especially alive when I'm in my walking rhythm; even the aches of the last few miles remind me that I am here, breathing and participating in the natural flow of the universe.

Lucky me!

Poetry, Reflection and Stuff

I have been away for a while, off on what I hoped would be a magical vacation bringing me to my favorite guy.

I always wonder, before I see him, if the spell will be broken. If the Life we live in-between our visits will somehow cancel out the power of what connects us. But, this time was sweet and pleasure-filled and easy. It was quite a gift of Love and I am grateful to have received it.

All the rest and relaxation I got was just what I needed. The time away brought me balance and of course, made me thoughtful and I decided to share some of those thoughts with you.

Love is so much and then, so simple.

When I was young I bounced between heady emotions and had my heart broken fairly often. I tend to be very loyal and like long term relationships (I know, I know, how did I remain single?) but I discovered, in my 30's, that what drove me towards Love were my hormones and my lovers' pheromones. Neither helps a girl make good decisions and my chaotic family history gave me an unworkable model. I had no skills for making a good mate choice. So, as a self-preservation tactic, I made the decision to spend my 40's focused on family and work. That decision likely clinched my singlehood, making it a permanent state of being, for this Life.

Oddly enough though, the men that I found during my 30's are still the men I Love best, even though I am no longer biologically induced into liaisons. One my dear friend, the other my sweet Lover. And that fact makes me ponder Love's power to hold us, bind us and carry us forward.

How is it that I still have a full heart after the disappointments, the loneliness, the distance? How does Love do that even when, over the years, I have sworn not to allow it?

I have been a willing witness to the growth of these men who once were callous, no, careless really, with my affections. I listened to them, over the years (and just last week), care for other women and admit I have screamed inside why not care for me??? but, that too has quieted to a barely discernible whisper. I have become, I think, the caretaker of my own Life.

Today, I am generally better able to see people for who they are than I was when younger and (bonus time) I don't mind most people being exactly who they are, even if it doesn't suit me. I don't know how or when I became so accepting of reality but I find it hurts a lot less than when I just kept wishing people and circumstances would be different.

I suppose that could sound like resignation, and I might suspect it was if I wasn't feeling so fine. If I hadn't just come from the arms of a man I Love deeply (and Love being with so completely) and yet, suffered not at all from our parting, I might think that I was kidding myself. And, though I would gladly and without hesitation walk halfway around the world to sit down by his side (thanks for that line, Dave) if he asked, I am not wishing and praying and pacing the floor at night for his desire. Instead, I am simply living the Life I have as if it is something precious.

Maybe I came late to the gift of mortality - an appreciation of Life and Love without conditions, but, I am glad I finally arrived.

When I returned home I discovered that the other man I Love is in a good deal of pain, suffering from economic and relationship downturns. The poem below is for him.


Better Days

I hold for you
tenderness,
like a warm amethyst crystal
in my left palm;
it glows with power
and promises balance and peace.

How can I say what you have been to me?
Little of what I wanted and yet everything
all at once,
once upon a long ago time.
How could I measure the weight of your mouth
on my belly,
speaking to the unborn beauty I carried there?
Impossible to regret what Life brought me
just because I was angered
by what it took in exchange.

Tenderness in my heart and soul
wells up at the sound of your mighty voice,
I will you to feel it across this VOIP connection,
all the while knowing I cannot make right
what has gone wrong in your Life.

I wish it could change everything,
this tenderness
that makes me long to wrap you in my arms,
cradled, like the 2 year-old I chose
instead of you.

I am almost useless to you now,
separated by 850 miles and too many years
of unfulfilled wishes.

I can do no more than stand for you.

I look out across my backyard
listening to the clacking keys of teenage homework
in the background of your pain,
and I know that somehow this far-away Love will help,
must help
and be as sustenance,
a force to hold you up
until a better Love finds you.

The Calling

It's late and I should be asleep but this piece was rattling around in my head. Doubtless, I'll pay for my folly tomorrow but for tonight...

My mother taught me to be long suffering
My father taught me why
I'd like to break the hold of the past
Someday, before I die.

To each, this Life is given
Its grandeur ours to make
The choice is mine to live it fully
or suffer as a fake.

It's up to me to find the joy
hidden in each day
to celebrate the Love I find
in my own remarkable way;

To march forward into my unknown
Despite the fear of pain
To change my unproductive ways
to habits that bring me gain.

I intend, today, to look within
and not shirk from what I see
to honor the world with all I am
and give the gift of me.

Groovy, Baby

I'm feeling groovy today.

Groovy,
like the 59th Street Bridge song,
Sammy Davis, Jr.
or
Wes Montgomery when he was
Bumpin' on Sunset

I am
in a
good groove.

Like I'm
inside my first new car;
(ROAD TRIP! )
sunroof open
stars overhead
night air blowing through
95 miles an hour
and
no flashing blue lights
concerned with my recklessness...
Groovy,
Groovy,
Groovy baby.

Every now and again
some stray melancholy thought
attempts to gain my attention
and sober me up.

But,
this rhythm is too hypnotic
the air too fresh
and colors too clear
for worrisome thoughts.
I leave them for another day,
some later day when
I have time for
mourning loss
or moaning stress.

Today, though,
is just too ripe,
with its clear blue sky;
its sunrise celebration
has left all the birds
chattering on about its beauty.

Today is too full
of the powerful sway of my hips
and the soulful song on my lips
as I take Center Stage
in my own Life.

Too perfect of a day
to spend any way
other than
heart open
mind clear
and
groovin'.

Peace and Love, y'all!

Love Lines

There are no straight lines.
Irregardless of the mathematician's linear regressions
or the philosopher's proofs,
life bends upon itself
and the terrain rises before our eyes again
and again and
again.

Familiar, though different,
each time synchronistically,
we know one another;
by scent,
the opulent curve of a lip,
the flashpoint behind the eyes
and in rare times
one soul to your soul.
Though recognition is no guarantee
of shared time, place or space.

Straight lines are a concept.
Like romance
they live in the mind and cannot be made real
no matter how hard or worthy the try
there is always the immeasureable distance
between points
between hearts.

The trick to tossing up your heart
is to purposefully give it a curve
and then wait,
with untold patience,
to see
who bends back round
and claims it.

Choices

Walk a tightrope:



hot
or
not;

play it close
or
simply let go;


naked,

desire brimming

wet,

waiting,

wanting,


needing
more than you have.

Valentine Love

I know that Valentine's Day is just a made up holiday and some folks will get all twisted up in knots about what they do or don't have today. But, I think setting aside a day to celebrate romance and passion is a sweet thing. Here is my tribute to the day and to the men who live in my heart, forever my Valentines.

A storm swept through
and blew out my electricity
So, I set the lamb on the grill
and decided to watch the sun
fall slowly below the tree line.

Across the dark blue and velvet sky
clouds swam overhead;
the moon peeking out from in-between
watched me sip warm beer
as I waited for my evening meal.

I think of you
as the wind slides along my cheek;
of your feet
or my feet
reaching across the unspoken divide
of our wedding bed
to say
'Love me tonight'.
I thought of how we each slid
so easily
along the length of the other
fulfilling the desire teased up by our toes.

Venus winks at me,
pulling me from my memories;
time to check the flame
and turn the meat.
But, the sudden heat
causes me to recall
a steamy Singapore night
when everything was you
and I was everything,
and the glow in my heart was visible.
The hibiscus seemed to spring up
as we walked along
those unfamiliar streets;
your pale hand gently clasped my cocoa fingers
your lips found my mouth
and stole my breath
as the rain poured down upon us.
Ah, baby,
what a night that was!

I take a long swallow from my half empty bottle
and listen
to the rustle of the trees.
The leaves make a dry and crackling sound
like the fall of your cargoes
across your thick and strong brown thighs
to the floor.
Your tongue worked magic along my back
a moan escaped my lips
and echoes now, through my mind.

Oh, how I remember
the late night dinners,
the shared movies,
the whispered fantasies and
the dreams worth dreaming
with you.

I remember the depth of your brown eyes,
the smell of you mixed with soap
and the smell of you mixed with me.

Remember all the flirtation
all the angst
the laughter
the way the sound of your voice
could still my heart,
melt my fears
and fill my world with joy.

I remember the day-to-day
the somedays
the always
and
the never ending
we will never end promises
that were broken and kept.

It is all here
for me
tonight;
so,
even though there will be no flowers,
no chocolate
nor diamonds exchanged
in celebration of such Love
I am still thankfulness and gratitude
still open and alive
still smiling
at every moment I spent in your heart.

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!

Elephants & Asses

Elephants and asses sitting up on a hill,
Want to make me swallow
a bitter and costly pill

They stammer and they stutter
Then frustrated, they shout
'You fool, if you don't the world will crumble'
But, I try to spit it out.

They played their hand, ran the table
and now they're out of trumps.
Why should I pay for their folly?
For their riches now defunct?

I'm a single middle class working mother
And nobody gives me a break
I'm left to eat chili daily
while the fat cat's eating steak

10 hours a day, no health care, the mortgage payments due
There's no gas for me to fill the the tank
Yeah, they've played me for a fool

So, why should I try to keep afloat
A system that didn't work for me?
That left me to pull up by my boot straps
and was fueled by simple greed?

700 billion dollars
For the wealthy man's payday
In the end I know they'll tax me
and there's little I can say

My short stick keeps getting shorter
It's a bitter pill for sure
The saddest part is knowing
It's just a stop gap, not a cure.

'Cause the illness that we really suffer
is "them that's got shall get"
and nobody's willing to upturn the cart
to really fix it yet.

Take good care...

God?

They say that He is the Loving God

Even though He strikes and smites

And if you have doubts you’re a sinner

Who’ll lose eternal Life

But I really don't like bullies,

Despots, tyrants or shrews

Who tell me there’s a toll to pay

For what I can and cannot do

I think folks have it all wrong

Love doesn’t operate from fear

It fills your heart with wonder

And demonstrates its care

So, keep your God, I believe I’ll pass

Until some changes are made

A little less death and destruction

A balance of sun and shade

For now, I’ll look in the mirror

When I want to cast some blame

Or at my fellow humans who commit

Horrors better left unnamed

And when this Life is over

I know not what will be

But I will have done the best I could

And that’s good enough for me

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

Slipping out the back door
onto the greying wooden deck;
watchful,
cautious,
feeling just a bit wanton,
she lets the towel fall to her feet
and stands
naked
as the rain storms around and upon her.

"This is freedom", she thinks;
even though it comes with 18 years left on the mortgage
and the fear (she can't seem to shake)
of getting struck by lightening.

She is free,
in this moment,
watching the rain slide along her full breasts
cascading off her erect nipples-
she imagines molecular-sized men
on a water slide,
hands in the air
having the ride of their lives.

Taking in the sounds
of water;
whole ponds traveling through the roof's gutters and
gushing onto the ground,
she is awed by the beauty of green tree tops
against such a black-grey sky.

In direct contradiction to her surroundings
she becomes sun salutation;
all her jiggly parts jiggle mightily
but
she does not care;
there are no witnesses to her body's glory and,
if some peeper should insert his gaze into her frolic
she hopes he is made happy.
He deserves it;
as he flatters her middle-aged mind.

Her left leg slides forward
as she prepares to exit the pose
and, within a fraction of a second,
her mind registers the beam of wood
that has inserted itself into her foot.

Hopping back into the kitchen
hoping there isn't a river of blood and water
trailing across the floor,
she plops onto the nearest chair
and, realizes,
then and there,
an ultimate truth;

Nothing is free.
Not even freedom.
And she smiles.

Having just explained that much of my recent poetry is not inspired by my Life, I offer this actual Life snippet to you. We had the most wonderful rain on Sunday and I took advantage of being home alone...

Woman Speak

I was raised to look on the bright side;
to believe that EVERYTHING works out
the way it should
in the end.

My mother told me that real beauty lives within
and wisdom is a way of Life.

At the knee of my grandmother
I was taught that Love has more value
takes more courage
and brings more joy
than anything.

I was brought up in the language of women
but,
no one told me it was a code.

No worries,
the world around me was
happy to provide instruction.

Mature now,
code deciphered,
I have taken my lessons to heart
and left the woman-speak behind.

Now I know that
"everything works out in the end"
really means
Life is hard and confusing
and you will survive its chaotic harshness
until you die.

The outer world doesn't give a rat's ass
for inner beauty;
it's what's outside that counts
and gets paid.

Wisdom has no value,
but knowledge is marketed to the masses;
bottled and sold,
on tv, in public schools,
by preachers and portfolio managers.

It will even show up in your e-mailbox
with the subject header
"Make it bigger for her and she'll beg for more".

"She'll beg for more",
which, in the language of women, means
please,
stop your banging and poking
and give me something more

give me more than your limp bravado
or the back of your hand when you have run out of words,
more than short-term serial monogamy
or a ride in a fast car,
more than this swollen belly
filled with your growing seed
and a story to explain your absence.

Can you give more than an impulse?
more than a car note payment left on the dresser in the morning?
more than HIV/herpes/gonorrhea/syphilis/chlamydia or
the human papillomavirus?
more than a grumble when I can do something
some
one
thing
better than you?

Is there more than drunken Friday nights that bring you home
on Saturday morning
with the smell of a barmaid's thighs still on your lips?
more than how I need to understand about your wife and kid
and your baby mama?
more than your highs
more than your lows
more than the circumference of the small little world
that spins around you?

Can you
give me
what my Nana promised,
in the language of women -
a courageous and priceless Love?


I have come to believe,
that Nana meant
Love is woman's hope;
a hope that endures
and stands
in this world of men.

2 hi ku 4 u

1. Before

lie in bed alone
naked, healing, eyes open;
incite poetry

2. After

lie in your made bed
alone, naked, eyes open;
mislaid poetry

Island Life

In
Out
In
Out

Breath.

Remember island life?

Not the tourists' pretend days
of luxury and carelessness
but children in crisp school uniforms
chickens running through the yard
coco bread cooling on the window ledge
and blue sky
pale yellow sheets in the morning breeze
greying clapboards and peeling paint

Remember before the steel and glass hotels lined every inch of beach?
Before pink skins laid across lounge chairs and burned;
their inhabitants calling
"Girl, yes, you. Bring a scotch, plenty of ice;
I don't know how you people stand this inferno"

I remember those cool mornings
when my 15 year-old feet walked slow enough
for you to catch up;
slow enough to find your smile
lagging just a little behind my hopes.

Remember way back to your pressed pants
and polished shoes,
both handed down from your rascal brother.

I can hear pawpaw calling out my name from the doorway
and see the look in your eyes when I step onto the porch.
I was the full sum of your mind
back then.

Can you remember those days before Desmond discovered
that if he swam a 1/2 mile out from the shoreline
he could meet the tour boats
full of drunken revelers on holiday?
Back before he tried that very first time to dive down
as they tossed coins overboard
shouting "deeper, deeper - look at that boy go.
Toss him another, let's see it again"

Before Jimmy, Sonny, Nelson and you joined him
and began to bark like hungry seals;
Loud and guttural sounds
to catch the rich vacationers' attention;
for tossed coins
you suppress the need for air
to the cheers of cold-hearted onlookers.

Those red-brown coins
color of your hands
that buy shoes for our children
and too many beers for your drink
coins that pay for too many red-lipped, smooth-legged women
with soft brown hands
that do for your manhood what these calloused, ragged and worn hands cannot
but the rage running through
your river of veins is never completely assuaged.
No, there is always a little bit of that left for me, eh?

In
Out
In
Out

Breath.

The sun is red in the evening sky
the callaloo has cooled
and the children are ready for bed
In a hour or so I will light the lantern
place it in the window
and search the stars for sleep.

Late Nite Without Letterman

I shouldn't fantasize about you again;
enough should be enough.
We've had our brief time for this year
or maybe these years
so, my mind needs to find a new focus;
needs to shift into another gear.

Instead, I am betrayed
by a steadfast Love
which will not fade,
nor gracefully whither
even after decades of your intermittent presence.

Desire for you should have dissipated
into the Life that surrounds me
So that, at 2:00 am,
I would be sorry that I could not clearly recall your face,
wistful, that my memory is not quite as sharp as it once was,
I would be drowsy and dropping back into a sound sleep.

Oh, but the gods are full of folly and tricks!

Because, at 3:30 am
(having felt every passing moment)
not only can I recall the tiniest lines
edging out from your dancing eyes but,
I can feel your hands trail lightly across my stomach,
inching slowly towards our desire.

A sudden jolt
and I am at a loss to explain the fear that stabs me.
Perhaps one of us will suffer a serious illness,
or you will grow distant
or some far worse fate that
leaves me
with only my memories
and no possible future where my dreams might,
once again,
have Life.

It is this thought that causes me to sit up
and turn on the laptop
so its clicking keys can record the insanity
which threatens to consume me tonight.

I want to act my age or,
at least act rationally,
and I fear there is no way
to overcome these feelings
of lust, of longing and of love,
except to quietly live my way through them.

(Sigh)
It would be alright,
I suppose,
if I thought you were having a similar experience.
But, Life has brought you complex preoccupations;
big ticket items like elder care, retirement,
and an abundance of middle-aged women.

Besides, you are logical and rational;
you will simply accept this most recent separation
and go about your daily tasks;
making your fun.
(I sometimes wonder
if the time we spend apart ever nips at you)

No,
you,
I am sure,
are sleeping like a log -
a fearless,
sexy,
and loudly snoring log.

If there be any mercy in slumber let it find me...

Ha!

There is no use for this obsession
nor, it seems,
remedy either;
except to hit the save button,
warm a glass of milk and
shimmy deep,
under the covers,
with hope
alone.

Commentary:
This is a tongue-in-cheek piece about how our mental constructs/emotions get in our way. And, sometimes, even when we are aware of it, we can't seem to change them. Or, at least, they take longer to change than we would like. So, we pine and fret and, when consciousness finally starts to rise, we laugh at ourselves and our predicament.
Here's hoping that whenever you are stuck in thought or deed a smile is close to your lips.

Unfound

Unaffected.

the late spring heat searches

for a way into my sanctuary.

blades spinning overhead

swhoosh layers of cool and conditioned air

down,

down,

down

to play along my open back

Untethered.

laying here
believing in the possibility of lifelines
that connect my world to another's,
without becoming reins

Unspoken.

the fullness of my heart,
likewise, day-to-day comings and goings,
small choices remain mute,
unshared
and undisclosed;
protected information,
safeguarded,
as if government secrets

Unimagined.

break-up, separation, divorce;
what, years ago, seemed like just bumps
on a long and winding road
became a way of living.
This solitary mammalian life
may bring the means of survival but,
there are too few tender joys
and only sporadic couplings

Unknown.

The lines that make up your smile
the pulse and rhythm of your desire
the true hopes of your heart;
what reason has this poetic sojourn?

Goddess Love

Old as the ages
the goddess smiles
and the world turns.

She is soft and strong;
earth and fire
brown and violet.

Words flutter around her shoulders;
she loves their velvet feel on her bare skin
as they fall,
with neither sound
nor substance,
to her feet.

Words paint pictures
that deeds prove or disprove;
that time exposes as lie or truth.

She enjoys the tender feel of his words
but knows the greater value
of her trust.

The goddess smiles
the world turns
"Show me"
she whispers,
"that Love is a verb".

Personals

a kernel

a nudge

a mild and very pleasing current

across my frontal lobes

stirring impulse

the idea

of you

as poetry

Commentary:
A few days ago I came across a personal ad (a random wandering) with an interesting poetic request. In lovely form the gentleman asked to correspond via poetry. Here is what I sent. I share it because it is the first time I have written on demand and unmotivated by a need to express a strong feeling. I like the way it turned out. Honestly, what do you think?

Transitions

I call to mind the lingering stares
that once roamed my full and lush figure
and I must admit to missing the signs of appreciation that,
years ago,
I held in disdain.

Now, don’t get me wrong,
I still receive a smile, a wink and a nod
on the rare occasion when,
feeling like a diva
I put on the red dress,
show a little cleavage and
let my hips swing a bit freer when I walk.

But, on those days,
my moon never fails to ask
“Mom, is that what you’re wearing today?”

As if she is, by common law
and the rights of adolescence,
the only one of us allowed
to swim in the pleasure of desire given
and desire received.

I laugh at her question (most of the time)
bob my head in the affirmative
and summon up my determination to Be beauty.

Though I wonder why it gets so much harder
to know that I-got-it-goin’-on feeling
with each year that passes.
Or, when it was that I began to doubt
the power of my womanly body
which,
though larger
and marked with many more curves
still radiates warmth,
still opens to enjoy a soft embrace,

still surrounds the object of its yearning
with a moist and enveloping passion.

Strange and constricting
the way the world defines me
as it passes by
without the slightest notion
of the depths of my mind, my heart or my pleasures.
Casting an eye only at the surface;
as if
what you see
really is
what you get.

Mature, aged, older, one foot
on the banana peel, ripe, antique,
durable, seasoned;
call me what you will -

All I ask is to be truly seen
and in the seeing to be known
and in the knowing to be Loved.

For I am ALIVE -
more than I have ever been,
though far less than I will become.

Time and Again

Through ragged and raspy breath, she begged,

"Please, don't do this,

please"

and

hanging her head

she sent silent prayers to her otherwise occupied gods

then waited for the end to her suffering.



Seconds later she opened her swollen eyes

and found him

mouth open

gun drooped

passed out

in the chair before which she knelt.


Gently and carefully,

like a mother who strokes the hair of her sleeping child,

she removed the weapon from his hand

then her shoes so she made no sound;

she grabbed the car keys off the dresser,

her purse from off the floor

and stepped,

miraculously,

out of the door

and into freedom...


Over the next few months
she will feel rage
she will know fear
she will go to court and tell most of the truth
she will lean upon her friends and tell them all of the truth until
she can no longer bare to look at the horror
she will make plans that are different from the way she dreamed her Life to be
she will be strong

And then,
he will call
telling her how much he misses her
how much he misses their children
especially the children
he longs for them and their pure Love for him
He will remind her of the 'good' times
speak to her of the importance of family
cry to her of how wrong he was and how sorry he is
and she will listen
for his voice sings songs to her heart
it always has
perhaps
it always will

In a few weeks
maybe a month
he'll drive up with all his belongings in tow
and she will find a place for them
in the bedroom closets and drawers
she will place his underwear in the washer
and cook his meals
and laugh when he swings the baby through the air making him beg
do it again daddy, again!

And I will stand at my kitchen window,
just across the street,
and watch the coming and going.
All the while, I will remember the bruised cheek,
I will recall the blackened eye beneath its concealer,
and I will watch, over time, the smiles fade
as things return to normal

Safe in my kitchen I will wonder what I can do
besides bear witness to this tragedy.
But no solution will emerge.

At night, my dreams will be filled with violence
from which there is no escape,
Upon my nightmarish awakening
I will rush to the kitchen window
just to make sure that everything across the street is,
at least,
quiet.

Looking out across the pavement I will pray for her
and, of course, the children; then,
remembering that I am a Loving being
I will pray for him.

Standing, hip against the counter
wondering if there is any chance for peace in this world,
I'll make a cup of weak tea
and sip it
as the sun rises
soft and pink and almost new.

Commentary
Having witnessed this over and again I no longer have blame or shame for anyone involved. My mother, my friends, my father, my enemies - all have done this dance. Are there better choices to make - you bet your ass. But, people do the best they can. We struggle, cry, fall down and get up.

The best thing to do is to tell the MF the first time he tries to dominate you, to kiss your big (or small) behind and get to steppin'. But, it doesn't always happen that way, does it? Sometimes we don't make the best choice until our youngest is 16 (like my Mom) and sometimes we never get to make the good choice because that trigger is pulled.

I spent a lot of years being angry at everyone because of what I witness(ed). I've realized that my anger, real and valid though it is, changes nothing, contributes nothing, erases nothing.

Witnesses have a special responsibility to tell the truth and, I hope I have done that successfully.

I do pray for the kids in this situation , I witness their pain and my tears are for them as much as for my friend. But, I have decided not to judge her. Her choice may well be the wrong one, it may also be the one that keeps her alive. The dance is delicate and has little predictability in it. Did you know that violence typically escalates when a woman leaves?

Fact: Violence against women effect 3 to 4 million women in the United States every year. They are beaten by their husbands, ex-husbands and male lovers.

Fact: About 75% of the calls to law enforcement for intervention in domestic violence occur AFTER separation from batterers. Half of the homicides of female spouses and partners are committed by men AFTER separation from batterers.

Leaving does not necessarily make it better. I wish it automatically meant that things would change, but it doesn't. So, folks, what do we do?