Insomnia

I'm closing in on you, Sleep.

Quiet as a leopardess,

Light as a fleeting thought,

With the stealth 

Of a seasoned mariner

Escaping merciless tides and whirlpools.

I'm closing in on you,

Sleep. 

Tonight shall be about 

Dreaming

And resting

And leaving behind 

A sick trail of insomnia

So that it may drip down

Into the cup of another

Less fortunate soul

Fated to lay with open eyes

As the moon waxes and wanes

And their lover pulls away

Their hands 

To cradle their own dreams.

Nope.

Maybe we shall meet again

On a sunnier morning,

When the marigolds are

In full bloom,

Like glorious little drops of sunshine,

When a jazzier song is playing

And I'm waltzing 

With the love of my life.

We look at the open door

And smile 

At this most charming visitor.

"It's been so long since we met,

Honey".

You smile back at us

And we hug, like mother and child.

And I shut that door down.

It will never open again,

And you will never have to leave. 

Son

What could I write

To perfectly describe you?

I don't know enough adjectives,

The moon pales in comparison,

And the constellations seem

Like unrelated sploshes of ink.

But then,

Perhaps I could compare you

To a sunflower

Blooming in yellow glory,

Always looking up-

A beacon of positivity.

Tall stemmed, golden petaled,

Joyous and uplifting

The brightness of my life,

And the life of the garden

Where you have been planted to bloom.

Social Distancing

Separated by a comma

And an ocean,

Like a hyphenated surname

That is meant to join

But shows definite distinction.

We sit in different countries

Waiting for the storm to pass

And reveal a brighter page

Of this horror story.

But for now, let's rely upon

Summer

To sweat our brains out

So that when we finally 

Get to dance together,

It isn't on a camera screen

But in real life-

Like a bouquet of flowers 

Swaying in unison 

To a beautiful breeze 

That is God's exhalation to announce-

The storm has passed. 

Ownership

So many great poets 

Whose works I feed upon

Take days and weeks and months

To churn out Pulitzer winning

Masterpieces. 

And I-

I sit on the edge of the bed

Hiding behind my own shadow

Thumbs on my phone

Furiously excreting honesty

With no rhyme scheme,

No guarantees of fruition,

And no before or after. 

My poetry takes ten minutes

But also a lifetime 

And once it leaves my head

Like liquid ink on paper,

It dries into a reality

That shall always remain to be

Mine.

Validation

My son, who isn't even two,

Points at paintings

That hang on the walls

Of our home

Of women dancing,

And playing the flute,

And says, "Mama!". 

It makes me smile to know

He sees a congruence

In face, stance and mood;

And then I wonder

Why I can't always seat myself

Upon that same golden throne

That he has saved for me

In his mind palace. 

Joy

Have you ever been filled

With so much joy

That your seams seemed

To nearly rip 

With the hot air of happiness

That expanded and imploded

Like a gas tank out in the sun...

Have you known that glee?

And when your heart 

Finally burst with elation

You saw tiny bits of self doubt

Evaporate.

Love has a way of healing

Everything.

Without prejudice or sarcasm.

Have you ever felt it?