Flowers in the Kitchen

The checker at the grocery store
—also a widow—
remarks longingly
how she misses being brought flowers
as she fingers the blooms
I select for myself.

I tell her:
“I buy my own flowers,
rather than do without.”

She replies:
“He must have loved you very much.”

I had a boyfriend once,
who thought flowers an inconvenience.
He didn’t last long.

Still, he was my favorite.

On Organizing Poetry Readings

It’s always the lesser-known poets,
—the ones who were last published in high school—
who view us as quite privileged
to be hosting them.

It’s not that they lack talent
or insight
or rhythm.

It’s that their perception of their celebrity
far exceeds the reality of human capacity.

You know who I’m talking about:
the poet who wants a daisy in her lavender water;
or The New York Times notified of his participation.

in my poetry series
in my very small town
west of the Rockies.

Directions

Ever notice how “there goes nothing” and
“here comes something”
really mean
the same thing?

Recovery

After the hammering,
a part of you died,
and took with it
the part that held me.

After the shattering,
I’m finally serene.
I see a bit of color;
instead of incessant gray.

Bliss descends
floating on the grief
that I can be
without you.

You

You.

You are that force
that leaves me wretching and writhing and flailing about.

Yet as I gasp
for my last breath
I fervently whisper:

“Thank you, dear, may I have another?”

Tanka #1

Winter: froze everything.

Finally, Spring hints with its first bloom --

a dandelion.

Personal Ad #37

Like a black rubber stopper,
I am initially cold
but I warm to the touch
of the right woman.

I can stop your leaks
and, when used correctly,
expand to fill the void
left by others.