I think I wrote these poems in 2009. No one has ever seen them. Isn't this a thrilling first?

Yesterday there was a tsunami.

I saw it on the news

Three-inch tall, wind-whipped palm trees

Suddenly sprouted on my TV screen

Or maybe those were from the hurricane

Last week.

I can’t remember.

Today I walked to the jewelry seller

On the corner, by the subway stairs,

And I bought a wooden bracelet

from the woman there

For four dollars.

I said,

Maybe this will help your brother

with the hollow eyes

But I never spoke those words.

Instead I thought how nicely

The bracelet dangled on my wristbone.

I stayed out a long time

Even though it was cold, and raw.

I took the subway all around the world.

I walked through the neighborhoods

And got lost,

Avoiding the train that would take me home:

There were uprooted trees

And hollow eyes

In my apartment.

 

Whew. Sharing poetry is tough. Glad I got that first one out of the way. These photos are from the same time period; it's a miracle they survived the Great Computer Theft of 2010.

February.

I cannot let myself think

About work

Outside of work

Nor about my life outside of work

When I'm here.

They are two separate me's.

At home, rocking in front of the stove,

Chopping an onion in the kitchen,

Standing dripping in the shower

Or easing into bed with hair still damp,

I do not think of absent bosses

Of my low status

Or of the articles to read and letters to write

Tomorrow.

At least,

I try not to.

And at work, talking about the weather

While I wait for coffee to trickle into my mug,

Sitting under ugly lighting,

Picking at my cuticles

And listening to the irregular clicking

Of eight hands on four keyboards

The occasional tapping foot

Or muffled cough,

I do not think about you,

Needing to borrow my car once again,

And will you put gas in the tank

And will the dishes be done when I get home

Or must I do them myself, again,

After I bring up wood

Stamp away the wet snow

Let the dog out

And back in again.

Taxes wait in a file on the glowing laptop screen

And our future rests

In glances, words, the slightest gestures;

Is rubbing your back as you sit, forehead buried in your palms, right

Or wrong?

These are questions I do not ponder at work,

Or at least,

I try not to.

One more? Shall we?

Home

There is a crusty muffin

Several days old

Sitting in of the cabinet

That I tell myself I will eat.

But really, it will be fed to the birds.

There is spoiled tomato soup

In the back of the fridge

Behind the ginger ale;

Hair balls under the couch;

And a pair of dirty underwear

Scrunched up at the foot of the bed

Along with the sheet

Pushed there by hot, impatient feet.

There’s a mostly empty bottle of shampoo

That outlived the conditioner,

And clothes I no longer wear

But think I might, someday.

There is a picture that makes me cry

Slid behind another that doesn’t.

There is a stain you cannot see on the floor,

And a toilet scrubber that I handle only very, very gingerly.

These were all written when I was 24 and living a life meant for someone three times my age. That's how it felt, anyway -- I couldn't wait to break free. And I did.