Sunday you and I started out so optimistic together,
Like young lovers seeing each other for the first time after summer vacation.
I feel your body as if it's new, but familiar searching for the known mole on the arch of your back.
I breathe you in and smile at how my longing for you has come to a close.
We are here together now, sitting on a bench hands holding each other, smiling without words.
It will be a wonderful day together.
Then the middle of the day comes and the things that we could've been together start to flutter by like August butterflies.
Plans to get a house orderly, school work completed, a great workout, groceries purchased and letter written, gently fly past me into the back yard as I take down the Hanukkah lights.
A lengthy phone call with my mom about gardens is interrupted by pieces of garbage showing themselves from the snow's melt of absent-minded pedestrians passing our house.
A long time bill needs paying and log-in information is not easily found, the sun is now working it's way downward.
I start to look hard at my familiar lover, seeing that not so much has changed since the last time I saw him.
At dinner time on this day, we barely speak and it's not because of some beautiful understanding, it's a cemented joint resentment.
My beloved Sunday has betrayed me, passing me by with a check-list chalk full of to do's that have turned into didn'ts.
I slurp my store bought meal down, not one item met the flames of my kitchen.
Thursday's laundry remains in the dryer, wilted and now basement scented.
School work books were opened but closed too quickly.
A good work out was conquered by a coffee shop bakery item.
Now it's night and my Monday looming in front of me.
Sunday, you tricked me into waiting for you, only to be betrayed again.
I will remember this moment and next week will know your "endless possibilities" that one who awakes next to you feeling are truly limited with pages of fine print.
Saturday is looking very handsome these days and I heard he might be available.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Ideal v Real
It's not that you shouldn't dream, look and hope,
Just don't let that list of should be's become the rope,
Of expectations that end up as a noose around your throat,
How can you expect love to arrive at your door, getting past your mote,
Protecting your heart from the real
By making you wait for the ideal?
Honey, you're not alone, in fact you're with quite the crowd,
The same ones who get drunk at weddings, crying they have yet to be found.
First things first, we need to admit our worst.
We have things we need to change, improve and grow,
There's no way we can always been the best in show.
Trust me, if there's one thing I know,
It's that I need to read more books, go for more runs, and spend less time in my computer's glow.
Now your turn, take a look at yourself and try it in a mirror.
What do you see? Maybe one, two or three too many beers?
Give yourself a break, you're still a looker -
But let's be serious, probably couldn't make trump money as a hooker.
You want to find someone who Blah Blah Blahs,
Can you chew that meat yourself, before you break your claws?
Do you go hiking? Do you volunteer?
Do you make shit happen, my dear?
This person you're waiting for is right here and inside of you.
So it's time to start turning a different color, anything but blue.
You always knew,
It was only you that was holding you back.
It's not that you shouldn't dream, look and hope,
Just don't let that list of should be's become the rope,
Of expectations that end up as a noose around your throat,
How can you expect love to arrive at your door, getting past your mote,
Protecting your heart from the real,
By making you wait for the ideal?
Just don't let that list of should be's become the rope,
Of expectations that end up as a noose around your throat,
How can you expect love to arrive at your door, getting past your mote,
Protecting your heart from the real
By making you wait for the ideal?
Honey, you're not alone, in fact you're with quite the crowd,
The same ones who get drunk at weddings, crying they have yet to be found.
First things first, we need to admit our worst.
We have things we need to change, improve and grow,
There's no way we can always been the best in show.
Trust me, if there's one thing I know,
It's that I need to read more books, go for more runs, and spend less time in my computer's glow.
Now your turn, take a look at yourself and try it in a mirror.
What do you see? Maybe one, two or three too many beers?
Give yourself a break, you're still a looker -
But let's be serious, probably couldn't make trump money as a hooker.
You want to find someone who Blah Blah Blahs,
Can you chew that meat yourself, before you break your claws?
Do you go hiking? Do you volunteer?
Do you make shit happen, my dear?
This person you're waiting for is right here and inside of you.
So it's time to start turning a different color, anything but blue.
You always knew,
It was only you that was holding you back.
It's not that you shouldn't dream, look and hope,
Just don't let that list of should be's become the rope,
Of expectations that end up as a noose around your throat,
How can you expect love to arrive at your door, getting past your mote,
Protecting your heart from the real,
By making you wait for the ideal?
Free Ride
There's nothing like letting your long blonde hair fly around you in the back of a Toyota in Peru.
It's a balancing act of one foot sturdily between pineapples and yucca and another between a stranger's two feet.
We cruise at 60 down the freeway, Andes Mountains chuckling at the sight of this gringa squished and so free at the same time.
A sudden stop and an old lady holding two upside down chickens gets down. She walks to the side of the road, greeted by a grandson who helps her get on the back of his motorcycle. There they go to sell the chickens. I send out a quick prayer to the universe that all four of them arrive alive.
Back on the road, honking horn as we pass motos, cars, horses, walkers, cyclists. I close my eyes and breathe it in strongly, this is a moment you just have to live, you cannot capture it no matter how hard you try.
It's a balancing act of one foot sturdily between pineapples and yucca and another between a stranger's two feet.
We cruise at 60 down the freeway, Andes Mountains chuckling at the sight of this gringa squished and so free at the same time.
A sudden stop and an old lady holding two upside down chickens gets down. She walks to the side of the road, greeted by a grandson who helps her get on the back of his motorcycle. There they go to sell the chickens. I send out a quick prayer to the universe that all four of them arrive alive.
Back on the road, honking horn as we pass motos, cars, horses, walkers, cyclists. I close my eyes and breathe it in strongly, this is a moment you just have to live, you cannot capture it no matter how hard you try.
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