Secrets

There are secrets

I must keep from you

little treasures

that I like to keep close

You cannot peek!

I must lock these up

like a schoolgirl's diary

that you may not read

because you might

unwittingly, stop

adding to

my tiny collection (oh no!)

of stolen glances,

the butterflies you send

down my belly,

of humming little tunes,

as your fingers

trace smooth lines

on my hand when

we hold them together,

your dancing

of tiny dances

when you think

I am not watching,

and your every chuckle

to my every silly story,

your shy forehead kisses

barely brushing

against my hairline,

and the most precious piece--

the glint in your eyes

how you light up

at the sight of me

so you see,

still waters need not be troubled,

some things need not be said

about something as silly

as a secret crush

on my husband-to-be.

Polaris

Barely visible in the horizon,

You were no Sirius--

far from it, yet

you were the one

I'd always known how to find.

It just took me a while,

hopping across constellations

(The Big Dipper,

Cassiopeia)

all pointing me toward you

and I plucked you

out of the sky,

put you on a ring

and said "I do."

Learning to Love

Screeching-- at first

the sharp edges

of two strange rocks

rough against the whetstones,

sparks fly

until softly

smoothly,

they fit together.

Curse

Fear strewn all across the living room

Her quiet aggression-- Mother is angry again.

Screeching and abrasive, her voice echoes in my mind.

Broken

Mother, her hand poised to strike--

Crushing pain in the child's chest

before the rod hits her.

At a Snail's Pace

A child is slain--

his body festers

in the sweltering heat,

a gun is gingerly kept

safe in a ziplock bag.

A mother with dead eyes,

she is on the news,

handed a bag of canned fish,

"It would be good

for what ails-- you,"

she is told, lovingly by

the Vice President herself.

A father in the emergency room,

he has blunt nails-- on bruised hands,

bloody tubes, without a pulse,

bright green motorcycle

in pieces on the highway,

fast food bags scattered

outside a gated community,

his last moments at 2AM

witnessed on the CCTV.

An archipelago in the tropics

from where the locals set sail--

for the deserts

and the snow,

muttering to themselves,

"Change is coming,"

Centripetal

it is summer again like when I first met you

the sun burns and the wind smells of grass

I am laughing again and falling into a sky

so wide and blue the world spins again

so suddenly I am walking in circles

with you unknowingly into a path

going deeper, and darker, the air

condenses onto the cold walls,

and droplets trickle down,

down, my flushed cheeks,

echoing against the walls,

of my beating heart,

my pounding,

against your chest--

I am spiraling

into you, 

into

the deepest chamber,

from where you would sow your seed,

and thunder rumbles.

it is raining again like when I first loved you,

the snails return, laying pink eggs in the grass.