Unread Valentine (Work in Progress)

I got your card-stock letter of affection
On the day love's definition equals gifts.
Tearing seams on a post marked envelope
Revealing evidence that my world is not the same.

Purple, blue, or black ink?
I know your name
I know your affection
Who scrolled them?
The letters squiggle
Filling a white landscape.

The feeling of being robbed
Even though it was expected.
With fading lights and haze
The swirling patterns every day
Be prepared is what they'd always say.
Better like this or better like that?
Once upon a day was night.
Learn your independence.

I've tasted the failure at the table of self pity
Where guests sit like ghosts entertaining the living.
And I've danced the waltz of depression
With partners who were mute.
I've heard the lullabies of dishonest neighbors
Whose intentions knocked open my door
Stealing hot kisses.
And I've seen the sorrow of bruised organs
Fighting the viruses of life.

But now I feel.
I lie in the field of hope
Resting.
Still.
Beside the lilies and cool dark soil.

Zippers

I wanna unzip myself
and spill all that's living inside me
All the cities of courage
villages of fear
fields of embarrassment
streets of sorrow and houses of joy.

I wanna connect the dots
the glowing street lamps
the white lines on pavement
the memories of fights
of bedroom corners
and closet caves for sanctuary
the present glass windows
of foggy drops that meet wipers
the last week of a trail
of white blazes and blisters
the few hours ago that were a headache
that were superficial conversations
that was my spinach ravioli.

I wanna sift through it all
the things that define me
that are mere characteristics
the stuff that gets my heart pumping faster
the boys that make me second guess
the Spirit's continual flapping wings.

I wanna arrange it all
like furniture in a doll house
so everyone may play nicely
may know my intentions
may listen to all the words that I've meditated on
may return the favor
or simply accept the gift.

I wanna zip it all up
like a warm winter coat
that fits in all the right ways
that hangs next to the summer dress
the one that's my favourite
with the twirly dancing skirt
that lives only a foot above
the sandals that I won't ever get rid of
the ones that sit on the wooden floor
behind the white door
with the old brass handle.

And all the insides
will one day match the outsides
when You've decided to conduct
that brass quartet
who will sing my name
in the sweetest melody.