[Untitled]

O' Hades, Never Questioned,
Stop.
Don't whisper in my ear.

Yours is an old man's game
And you know that in time I will be.
In time.
But I am in time.
Don't whisper me out of it.

Stop fussing.
Don't pester.
Don't nudge.
Be patient and don't talk.

We do not converse, you and I.
Yours is a monologue.

I'll sooner speak with your wife.
Hers is a more timely message.
Don't you know? I am twenty-seven.
It is just summer and I am twenty-seven.
In January it is summer,
And I am twenty-seven.
Yes, send me Persephone.
Your wife and I, we will talk.

But you and I do not talk.

The Politician.

Gift Horse.

Jill knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Conversation.

today is awesome

you aren't here anymore
and i don't think i like it

they put someone else in your place
and now i have to play nice
instead of being real

'today is awesome'
says the little sign
but i couldn't disagree more

Jaques 57

Just like grandmother made, she thought. The cup brought warmth to her spirit, which was in dire need of mending as this season brought both joy and weariness. From behind her giant mug of comfort she intently gazed on the man who gathered her attention as he strolled past. She remained concealed, tucked away, except for the big soft eyes peering into the outside world. What about this man is so familiar? Something pulled terribly at the yesteryear as he drifted by like the lonesome ghosts many of us are. But what?The cologne. Jacques 57. It reminded her of her grandfather. In an instantaneous manner she was whisked away into the past.

She finds herself sitting upon his sturdy knee once again. She looks around to see the house decorated, and busy with the bustle of people. It's Christmas. Grandfather is sitting with her in his three-season porch, a lit pipe giving the air a tobacco perfume. She sees his cold blue eyes and warm rosy cheeks sitting upon his weathered skin wreathed in hair white as snow. All of which are focused on her, his beloved granddaughter. The warmth in his cocked smile, and baritone chuckle fill the space between with love and joy. Besides his laughter, the only noise to be heard is Grandmother cooking in the kitchen. The farmstead remains covered in the silent snow. There is peace for all to share here.

As the cash register opens she is jolted back to reality to watch the gentleman walk away with his coffee and optimism. She quietly gathers herself as the realizes comes home; it wasn't the cup that warmed her spirit, rather nostalgia. What started with a cup reminding her of her dear grandmother, ended with an uncompromising cash register lay a memory. A memory she thought she could hold onto throughout this season. She had found her holiday spirit.

A Collection of Mondays

Dark fragments of the winter
grow upon my face
like the winds of
a fierce Nor'easter
blowing hard down
steep Atlantic banks.

I wish hard that
I had seen you then,
during our winter,
under garland & glass
ever dressed in black.
all-the-while-in
our rudimentary pleasantries
and awkward stares.

But I have since
fast collected the
fractures,
with a dull razor from
my broken skin.
I watch them wash
and swirl downward
in the tepid
crimson water,
then step aside.