the plastic figures on the kitchen windowsill sometimes fall. i found one, yesterday morning, upside down in a used wine glass. cowboys and indians. one or two stray second world war soldiers. with grenades. caught in their colorful struggle. to fight endlessly. stuck in such strange poses.

everyone in the house is sleeping
this winter late afternoon
and i am afraid to move
as if my one contraction
might bring the whole peaceful picture
crumbling down

i spent a lot of time being a bad girlfriend
a bad friend
i loved people i shouldn't have
at times i shouldn't have
even when i always
knew better
i feel bad for these lapses of conscience
and imagine myself writing The Steps-style apology letters
to my former selves
to you
i want to say things like
It wasn't your fault that I was miserable with myself and the world.
There wasn't anything about you that made things go wrong.
but then, i'd never really send them
apologies are only usually for the sender
and i've already been selfish enough

The thing that irritates the most, he says, are my pants. He can't get over them. The way secret things reveal our selves to the people we most want to hide out from. The first year we are together, he buys me all new pairs. They are all the same. And always get upgraded, from time to time. It's enough to call love. If you were looking to label these kinds of things.

I'd like to write something like
I'm having trouble sleeping, and sure could some rest. I'm having trouble thinking. Maybe.
But I didn't write that.
These days I'm doing all kinds of things sacrileg.
Trying to drown my not-sorrows in late nights and wine glasses.
Trying to write, only nothing comes out. Not for the clear skies. The wide open expanses. The everything I ever wanted to happen that has happened that leaves me always feeling breathless and wide awake.
I dream a lot. And live most of my life in glorious.
It's enough for me to not miss the pace.
The life that once was and always will be locked up in these twitchy fingers.
I love you through sparks and shining dragons. I do.
I didn't write that. Either.

the other day. he lost the dog. just turned around and all of a sudden, she was gone. zoom. the other day, i watched someone i sort of know hold the tiniest baby i've ever seen in real life. a month old. someone said. i sat and stared. gee gawed. sometimes, i sit with the cat at the end of the couch. sleeping. and i wonder how he can be such a bastard. and such the love of my life, at the same time. like life. i guess. or something.