Every Tuesday Night

I can never never never say goodbye.
Dying to leave and longing to stay,
and hold her hand just a little longer.

Mom can't say my name anymore
or see me with recognition.
Just hum a Yes or a No and say Thank You
to my I Love You's
in her familiar deep voice.

Walking away in silence,
I carry her sweet expression
in my mind
all the way down the hall
through the smell
out to my car
two lights
four freeways
and fifty
minutes

home.

Jewel

I met you one night

after your show at the Greek.
Ushered in with a backstage pass
I waited.
Finally, finally
you appeared
– a blazing red dress –
as if you needed to steal the room.

Watching you sway and twinkle through
the melange, wanting to touch you
(because I knew your words),
I reached out to you in introduction.
And while our small hands fit, I wished
I had stayed in the corner and remained
a fly on the wall.

Loneliness

If you had walked into my house that night
or been hanging on the wall,
you would have found me
in a soft minute
bathtub rocking
"God,"
whispering...
"I'm not brave."