the weight of things

his voice is the impact of a falling plane, ringing
deafness in the ear
setting fear aflame

children laughing is summer rain dancing on a lake
lightly falling,
giddy and free

your eyes are a smile
an open gate
inviting me into more than
what they can see

i bear it in my chest,
the weight of things
heavy and full,
like the flush of lips before a kiss,
the touch of hand imploding stars

everything has its weight
i feel it inside
and carry it
until each thing has
a name

what if i stay

what if i stay
when you say go
when hands in anger up you throw
when something in you thinks you know
exactly what my heart will show
"her love for me just isn't so", although
when you say go
what if i stay

what if i stay
when you say leave
when angry hands roll up your sleeves
when what you say to me feels mean
and your pain makes you want to scream
meet me somewhere in between?
when you say go
what if i stay

what if i stay
what if i never run away

what if i run to you instead
hear all the words you left unsaid
and not the ones you have misread
rest my tired aching head
on beating breast atop our bed
with tenderness, lightly tread
when you say go

what if i stay
when you say go
instead, my arms around you throw
"my love for you is real, you know"
and that is what my actions show
feel what you need to feel, although
when you say go
i think i'll stay

open

open, into me
beyond words, and deeply
paring off the surface, to the
empty me, slowly
falling, into
you

open, into me
without haste, and deeply
scrape through skin, with
fingers, softly
explaining, your
motion, into
me

open, into me
wide, and deeply
spreading soul, and
stretching inside,
of me, inside
of you

open, into me
gently, and deeply
leaving behind, all
preconception, preparation
without defense, and open
into me, anyway

let me into you
let me in,
to you, into
me

dream

when morning light turns awfully bright
and blackest night fades into white
arms cling with might to pillow tight
a final fight for my mind's sight
to hold you right 'til end of night

enough, together

small fragments of a torn heart strewn
about the gold and garish room

with shiny trinkets dangling
from chains prepared for strangling

there pictures of my first love fell
into a darkish blackish hell

and you found me on naked ground
cradling wrists that i had bound

i told you that i am too much
too deep for another to touch

you handled every wound with care
with tenderness i knew was rare

and thought of silly things to say
to put my frightened heart at bay

placing each sliver in your palm
held in each tear a healing balm.

your weary eyes made you look older
as your head lay on my shoulder

and you confessed your own heart's lie
a rule of thumb that you lived by

you believed you had to be tough
said you felt that you're not enough

that what you want was never heard
no one had listened to your words

and in that moment i could see
that love was new inside of me

i placed your calloused hand in mine
as we drank down our saline wine

that filled each other to the brim
sent pleasure through our every limb

and with our rubbing hands and feet
crawled in-between the rumpled sheets

fingers that made my empty bed
were folding into you instead

and with the blankets of restart
i tucked you safe inside my heart

when clouds cry

warm drops drip down the face of the glass
to the melody of the desperate mockingbird

the taste of saline sky
tells her that time is shrinking

strong and erratic are the notes
unfurling her fear that she will never find a mate

so she sings stronger
for the snotty nosed stratus

who knows that when clouds cry
the birds will still sing

slow and steady he swims through sky
shedding tears on tongues who will sound his sad song

unspoken

her long legs slip onto the pew like a pair of worn blue-jeans.
she is comfortable here, next to me.
my eyes remain fixed forward
as her smallish brown shoulder inserts itself under the cleft of my arm;
she fits, and
i have never felt more grateful, for her;
for a warm body, easeful and close
with its touch of tenderness, of innocence.
i am safe
in the hands of this child.

her slight lips part in prayer.
softly, fervidly, she rolls words off a salty tongue
that smells of morning snack time;
of peanut butter crackers and concentrated orange juice.
her sticky mouth moves, and
i too, pray
that there is a God whose ears reach beyond the limits of my hearing
that her words, in their smallness,
are significant.

she prefaces my name with "miss,"
but she is my teacher--
eyes wide and ready to receive
whatever we do not withhold, from her
wanting eyes
from waiting fingers
wrapping themselves around wishes wasted with words.

when she turns her round brown windows toward me,
they open into my soul, where
i hear a song gently sung:
some prayers are better left unspoken.

onomatopoeia

zoom, zoom
goes the muffler on the bike, riding
passed me, on the front porch
i sit, enclosed
by a white wooden frame and wire, screened in
to a room that feels full of words, but empty
of hands to press them into my skin

whirr, whirr
comes the breeze, breezing
through the gaps in the screen
lifting the hairs on my arm, toward heaven
where the hands of my grandmother still, rub
my back when i am tired

tweet, tweet
rings the chime of the phone on my lap
where disembodied love, reaches
my heart without ever, reaching
my body sitting on blue painted planks, far away
from lips to whisper words into me

glug, glug
groans the heart, pushing
blood through veins, rushing
my ears flush with red, every time
i hear my name, called
Adrienne

let the rest go

broad shoulders stretch the thinning fabric of his shirt
as he stretches, his arms
wide enough to hold a half-dozen, children
giggling into his open embrace, know
what it is to be loved by him
and i know that i love him

when i see warmth in their, tiny eyes
sparkling with delight, in his hands
forming their spirits with laughter

his head lifted just, before
i knew why, the wind stopped.
he took the laughing from the breeze
and he gave it and said,
this is for you, take
and be happy

and they took it and shared it with one another
and I thought to myself, this is good
you can let the rest go now

a spring morning in bull city

it pitters and patters
into my ears, and
i hear the sound of nickels dropping, though
there are no tin roofs here, i hear
they have them in Fayetteville

they walk their dogs anyway, Durhamites
wearing flannel coats, with dewy eyes
smiling under knit caps for the morning, chill
softening the rain falling into animal ears, listening
for the sound of squirrel, and smelling
the rain, instead
i lay motionless in bed

the owl outside my window
does not, hoot
at the clouds slowly drifting eastward
to Wilmington, he moans
in harmony with the Avett brothers from Concord
where there is history in a song's trajectory

the hills of Boone laugh
their eyes, dancing
hidden under thick fog,
like the knit, cap
when they hear, the tune
bouncing out of valleys and under cliffs, soaring
above the clouds, and back to heaven
where the rain came, from

my head, laying motionless
atop the white feathered cloud, atop
my bed

rage

fire in the blood, poisoning
the face of passersby, shaking
hands

daggers ripping into, self
pounding in the chest, screaming
eyes

boiling rage, water
searing, knuckles
and knees made black and blue
brought low

clutching fingers steal, through skin
to heart and tear,
out of body, out
of mind,
out, out

raw emotion, trapped
and d i s s i p a t i n g

and some of my soul, leaves
with it

she fills me

she fills me
swollen, like the stomach
of a woman aching to give,
birth to a life, she hopes
to share with one whom she does not know,
will ever be

she fills me
swollen, like twisted
ankle bearing too much, weight
of a heavy heart, wanting
what it cannot carry, alone
it stands thick

she fills me
swollen, like summer
thighs spread in heat, under
clothing sticky with sweat
from a body waiting for, a breeze
a cool breeze

she fills me
swollen, like a mountain of, desire
caving in, walls crumbling
an avalanche of feeling, flesh
rushing down slick hills slanted
into me

to my last love

my dearest darling,
if only you knew
the sad tale of love
this life has produced

i pen this message
with ink blood and tears
seeking forgiveness
for all of the years

of lovers cheated
and good friendships lost
sentiments squandered
full knowing the cost

poems exhausted 
and songs left unsung
speech now long faded
on tongues long left dumb

my own words cut me
sunk deep like a dart
forming an unshapely
poor piece of art

lost treasure afloat
in bottomless sea
promises, secrets
known only to me

i thought i was dead
under warped wood, bent
into ghastly shapes
left exhausted, spent

until you caressed
the glass of my neck
saw through into me
straight passed the shipwreck

you lifted me from
the lonely ocean
captured with your hands
all my devotion

read every wrinkle
of this confession
written on my face--
my heart's repression

take each desire
and want undreamed of
and plant them inside
of you, my last love

untitled

Sometime
Someone
Somewhere will
See me.

And
Someday
Someplace
Somehow will
Inside me

Know
Somebody
Somewhat in
Someway.

And I will call this something
Love
Because that's what we keep calling it.

sewn

our conversations are plentiful
while you're moving to and fro
in life's improvised tableau
so i'm never sure which way they'll go
the dialogue just ebbs and flows
and yet there is one thing I know
there are some words you don't forgo
your lips seem to enjoy to crow:
"maybe so"
"oh... I don't know"

i'll find an old worn school photo
recall a story from long ago
a time when we were toe to toe
pick up my phone to let you know
and find you're drinking white Bordeaux
while you make the kids some sloppy joes
as you grab a piece of cookie dough
to mime for them a puppet show
I ask if that's a text typo
you wink and tell me "maybe so."

i admit i'm a romantic doe
with words i can seem quite a pro
so i'll tell you that your meek "hello"
sounds like a sonnet by Thoreau
or i'll paint with colors like van Gogh
a portrait of your golden glow
from my heart an overflow
so that you'll always ever know
my passion for you -- even so
your response tends to begin with, "oh!"

i finally tell you i'd like to know
if i might take you to a picture show
i can no longer undergo
my desire for this love to grow
all this longing has me sewn
it hits me hard from head to toe
and i beg you for a quid pro quo
some sign on me would you bestow
to soothe my angsty bachelor woe
the response i get is, "i don't know..."

after all the seeds i sow
what do i for my labor show?
this poem and its afterglow