Sonnet Time! (almost)

Oh the Sonnet. I was dreading writing one because they're tricky and I hate rhymes and iambic pentameter feels archaic and stupid. I was wondering how I was going to bang out 14 perfectly structured lines....

And of course (this would happen to me) I got so wrapped up in it that it's four lines too long! Whoops. Ok, I''ll admit I had a lot of fun with it. Clearly I just didn't want it to end...

Anyway, I'll just call this my wanna-be sonnet. It's (almost) perfect in structure!

Morning Hymn

If you have landed on a sea of green

then you must a wake me [but not too fast]

and kiss the bold intentions you have seen

goodbye. Is like the open dessert, vast

and cold except when you wake up next to

me: fingers enter-laced, the window open,

a warm summers’ breeze says hello to you.

Yellowbird, cry our song and reopen

your stories so I can hear them when he

stretches his arm across the bed around

my waist. Awaken these sleeping toes, knees,

whisper the rustling leaves beneath and sound

the words of my mother as she braided

my hair every morning. Take your time with

me. Pause as you dress to look at the faded

photos. Unravel my past, a labyrinth

of stories, each a heart beating slowly,

birds singing in the warm morning, lowly.

Purple Tuesday

Rain drops sputter against the window sill of the empty room              and I don't know how we got here when all we really wanted was to eat Costco cake on the rooftop               of your apartment building and buy bottles

 of Blackburn wine from the Trader Joes on 14th street      [those nights we would stand in front of the cashier and flash our fake IDs] stand tall, shoulders back, you know you want to be someone you are not.                         Perhaps the night we fled from the

disasters freed us from the things we refused to know; those things you think at night when the high-stitch count sheets can protect you,           when your mother and father can't see you, 

cry for me, I'm begging you 

And now we are here: empty room. [your cold breath] the stench of mold in the deserted bathroom shower and I have nothing to say                     so I listen to the pitter 

                           patter of the rain, purple sky, I think about how we could have been at

Costco, the chocolate cake too dark, and that horrible wine,

six dollars           and the New York City stars polluted by the lights,

[62 Avenue A]         our faces shining.