Resting Heart Rate
The hollow heart pumps peace rhythmically, contracting and dilating, pushing calm methodically against the flow of fight. Peace is the absence of disturbance but it is not passive. Being the heart that pumps peace against the current of rage is as difficult as trying to hold up the sky, to keep it from falling down around us. We are weakened by our fear that someday it will - the sky- fall down. It keeps trying. To crash down on us. We know it on days when it is thick with layers upon layers of deep dark clouds in 3D glory that erupt into 4D with rain and sleet and hail beating down on us. That is the hardest sky to hold off, our arms tired, and we are soaked through but still we hold it all at bay because though it will drench us to our core for a while until we think we can’t take anymore, it will stop eventually and the clouds will clear and there will be a sky that is easier to hold again. Easier to live under. There are days that the sky fools us into thinking that it doesn’t need to be held off at all, like it can just be. Like we can just be. Days when it is just a painting of a specific shade of blue an artist spent hours of trial and error to get just right and it has a sun in it - sometimes bare, radiant, exposed and sometimes hiding demure behind white wisps of brand new cotton balls. We let our arms down then, to relax at our sides those days but we keep our eyes on it always - the sky - to see what it will do next while our hearts keep pumping out peace, hoping that peace will echo off the heavens all over the earth.
The Northeast Direct
I board a train in Hartford
the Northeast Direct to Philly
find a boy playing banjo
serenading from the back row
long plaited hair, kind eyes, and a golden voice
I figure he’s there just for me
not having been on many trains
I can’t be sure but I don’t think
train car concerts
happen everyday
I don’t feel the train start
only know when it’s moving
I know this song
and I wonder if we’ve met
in the midwest yet
I want to talk but the song doesn’t stop
eyes that won’t leave mine alone
tell me words get in the way
and his smile says it all
before it ends, another song begins
I could stay all day on the Northeast Direct
And listen to where this goes
but I’m not that girl
who drops everything
to stay on a train
I wish I was carefree enough
but something waits for me
a plan with a job and a suit
this may be the right song
but it’s the wrong tune
I can’t follow him but he could follow me
he only keeps singing
I drift off at my stop looking back
as the Northeast Direct rolls on
so do I
Walking Around
walking around
in the night
in the cold
in the dark
walking around
again
not with me
this time
but not alone
either
i saw it
coming
i knew
it was only
a matter
of time
before
i was replaced
what was
mine
is hers
what i was
to you
she is
now and yes it hurts because you don’t really care anymore
go ahead and walk her around and drop her
cold
it isn’t my heart anymore
It Could Be a Love Story
Once you’ve had the sort of passion that is alarming
it’s hard to get there again
and you find you spend
more energy trying to love
than actually
loving
trying to imagine
what it could be
instead of seeing
what it is
If you put what you want the most
inside what you have
it could be a love story
When love is what you want
you can take
what you have
watch it endure
call it love
and live
in its illusion
Squint and spin it
watch what you want
and what you have
swirl and blur and blend
As minutes turn to hours
hours to days
days to weeks
weeks to years
year after year
you will be what they call happy
or you won’t know any better
anymore