cactus injuries

you were sitting at my desk
as I was trying to reach over you
looking for that gift to wrap
last minute,
like your inscription on the card
like it always seems happens
when we're spending time together
and don't really want to face the world

and of course
(like one of those first coffee dates
when I spilled coffee all down my pants
and nonchalantly cleaned it up
hoping you were still believing I have it all together)
I punched my window cactus
spilling fake desert rocks
and coating my hand, wrist
with cactus spikes

pinching, pricking
I pouted and preened
pulling each little stick out of my skin
turning to you for sympathy
you began one of your explanations
drawn from the categorized rows in your head
this is why it is
the hooks on cactus spikes
something that embeds in your skin
this is why
as I tried to explain to you
that it hurt

and then you saw something
like maybe those times
you look in my eyes
and stop listening to the words I'm saying
and I can't even really mind
but whatever it was
all of your attention was mine

because it's an interesting sensation
when you see that I'm hurt
because the intensity of it scares me
when I see that you would do whatever it took
to stop another cactus
from getting in my clumsy way ever again

you really do mean it
really do you mean it

white ice

tens of thousands of feet above you
looking out on the wing
the whiteness of the clouds
is beyond what I can describe
reflecting into the ice cubes I've left
the bottom of a drained glass
lines of ice
memories of a place I've never been
I can see the polar bear yawn

and then, I'm drawn back to you
wherever you may be
wondering what stories you could tell
about polar bears
and what it means to let go

morality

your body moving against mine
and i'm sweating
you taste me
like lot's wife
i'm turning into salt

trying to accept it

i bought a new pair of pants today
and i couldn't help
but parade past the full length mirror
again, and again
so you see, i'm not really all that humble

or sociable
as i retreated to my room
unable or just unwilling
to hear about anyone else but myself

not to mention
my roots are growing out
and my nails are chipping
who knows when i last exercised

simply stated
i'm far from
perfect

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one day, as she was wandering down the path toward home, he appeared, flowers in hand. "for you," he said, but she only shook her head.  the following day, she was walking again and he appeared, chocolates in hand.  "for you," he said, but she only shook her head.  the next day, as she continued along, he appeared again, a book in hand.  "for you," he said, and she smiled, and nodded, and they sat down and read and read and read, and it was beautiful, for it was something they could do together.

--------

alone, imperfect
together, complete