We heard scrabbling in the attic
Dozens of tiny feet
Running to and fro
A cacophony of movement

Louder and louder it grew
We both looked up in dread
Knowing what was coming
As the ceiling started to sag

And then the cracks split open
And little bodies fell
Raining down upon our heads
Rodent showers at midnight

We jumped up and ran
But there was no where to go
We knew we had no choice
But to take matters into
Our hands

He grabbed the first one
He saw
And flew to the kitchen sink
Where he snatched up a butcher knife
And chopped off its little head

I handed him another
Which he dispatched with equal speed
Then another and another and another
Till the sink was brimming with death

I think we’ve got enough
He said
To send our message home
Then he opened a drawer and
Pulled out a pile
Of little wooden skewers

He boiled some water
And left the flame burning
Then began as I watched in amazement
Peruvian voo-doo witchcraft?
Shrinking the rodents heads
And mounting them on sticks

I stared at our macabre creation
And suddenly started to laugh
He followed suit and shortly
The only sound to be heard
Was the roar of demonic laughter
Our terrorist hearts’ delight

We got out the ladder
Climbed up to the ceiling
Where all the trouble had started
We peered inside with a flashlight
There wasn’t a sound to be heard

I handed them to him
One by one
He placed them in half a circle
Surrounding the gaping hole
Where they stood like silent sentries
Warning their brothers of doom

We came back down
Put the ladder away
And parked ourselves on the couch

Turned on the tv
Smoked another bowl
Fixed a midnight snack
Then fell into peaceful sleep

The next morning we looked
In the attic
To see if our plan had worked
But the space was completely empty
As if nothing had ever been there

We looked at each other in wonder
Did the soldiers bury their dead?
What really happened last night?
Was that just some really good weed?

We’ll never know for sure
I guess
The only thing I can tell you?

It’s been a good two weeks now
And all’s quiet in the attic…

It’s an illusion
Sink to the bottom with me
We’ll play in the mud

On this test

My answers to
The questions
Pass back and forth
Telepathically

No pencils, templates
Or cramming involved

It’s a Life Test
That has to do
With things

Like knowing when
To reach out
Your hand
And when to
Hold it back

And wait to be
Reached for

Accepting with
The gut
What the mind
Already knows

That genuine caring
For someone
Isn’t about

Restrictions
Belonging
Persuading

But rather about
Freedom

Of expression
Of movement
Of self

Trusting they know
You are there
For
Them

Whether or not
You are there
With
Them

Throwing aside all
Preconceived notions
And worn out
Ill-fitting
Attitudes

Offering up
Instead

The most
Valuable
Gift
You can
Give

The acknowledgement
That their truth is

Just as real

Every bit
As justified

Equally
As driving

As
Your own

She has
Everything
A woman could
Want

Money
Houses
Diamonds
Antiques in the
Foyer
A Rolls in the
Garage

Friends
Successful husband
Two healthy children

Vacations every season
On a private tropical isle

She fights for
Every cause
Donates to
Every charity
Attends
Every rally

She chairs the
PTA

And yet every morning
When he leaves
For the office

She lies in bed and
Stares at the ceiling
Wondering what
Went wrong

When she derailed

Why she didn’t
See it coming

How the chasm
Grows ever
More hollow
Ever deeper
By the day

Then she dresses
In her casual
Prada
Slips on her
Dolce Gabbana’s
Grabs her
Gucci handbag

Slips off
Her wedding ring

And goes to the bars
At the far end of town

Where it’s
Always Bombay Sapphire
And
Never the same
Man twice

Where no matter
How much she drinks
How long she
Looks in the glass

How long she
Lies in his arms

She never finds
What she’s looking for
One day she knows

She never will

That morning
She doesn’t stare
At the ceiling
She doesn’t
Wonder anymore
She merely
Steps into
The pool

80 degrees of azure

And doesn’t
Step out

Again

Where does
Redemption lie
If not
Within the heart

In the realm of
Second chances
Dawn to dusk then

Last chances

Faith in faith renewed

We’re given only
So much time
So many possibilities

Before what came before
Becomes that which
Overrides all hope
Of touching anything

More

Transcendence has
Its limits
Equal to the
Human heart

Finite in dimension
Despite immense intent

Restricted
By the darkness
Captured
Within the scope
Shot down
By the power

Of ticking
Treacherous

Time

It seems to me
He said
That you can be
Extreme

I mean, after all
You picked up
And moved here
On a whim
To be
Close to me

She thinks about it
Thinks how
She feels
Then meets his gaze
And says

If a heart is merely
Indifferent
If it makes no
Stand
If it takes no
Risks
If it’s lukewarm
Flat and
Measured

Is it something
You can count on?
Is it something
Worth hanging around?

I could skywrite
Your name
In the clouds
She said

For all the world
To see

I could
Write you a
Song
And perform it live

On Youtube

I could
Name you in
My will

I could buy
You flowers
Or save
My money
To whisk you away
To Peru

I could tattoo
Your name
On my breast

But nothing could
Speak any louder

Than rubbing
Your aching
Shoulders

Or reading
Your manuscripts

There are dozens
Of ways
Of every dimension
To show someone
Affection

And they all
Dance the
Ego’s waltz

I moved here
So I could
See you

I moved here
So you could

See me

A stand
A risk
A statement

If nothing lasts
Forever
If it’s all a
Dream
Just an illusion

Then playing it safe
Means missing it all

What I wanted
To sense
When I opened
My eyes
For as long
As I could

Is
You

Walking
For hours
Shedding
Along the way

Old memories
Old pains
Old lies

Like diamonds
Once valued
Now
Meaningless

In the context
Of today

Left behind
On the ground

Faded sentiment
Useless trappings

Withered leaves
To scatter
In the wind

Leaving room
For
Truth

Leaving room
For
Redemption

The opening
The changing

Of a soul

That night

When she walked
Thru his door

There was no conversation
No tv or ganga
No food or drink

To begin

Not a word
Spoken out loud

Just a coming together
Her breath on his cheek
His lips grazing
The nape of her neck

Slipping her dress up
Over her head
His hands sliding

South

Over belly
And back
Under lace

Kisses hard
And deep
Tender slow hot wet

Without
Mercy
Without pause
Or restraint

Then he lay her down
Sliding on in
Taking his time

Turning
Guiding
Rocking

Hearing her moan
Hearing her cry

Then holding nothing back

Exploding

Into her so deep
She felt him shudder
From the inside out

Then falling back
Quiet now
Catching their breath

Tracing clouds
On the painted
Ceiling
With the patience
Of bliss gratified

He turned to her
And said

“Let’s eat.”

And I said, Sister, don’t you understand?
He’s all I ever wanted in a man
I’m tired of sitting round the tv every night
Hoping of finding a Mr. Right
– Margo Timmons, Misguided Angel

There is no Mr. Right
No Ms. Perfect

But someone
Who engages
Our soul

With a whisper
Only we
Can hear

I seem to want
Less and less
Each day

Fewer possessions
To tie me down
Fewer thoughts
Of what if

Fewer hopes
Fewer dreams
Tired truisms
Unquestioned
Ideas

Less guidance
From
Without

I want to meet
My fears
Expose them
To the light
Relieve them
Of their power

I want
Good coffee
Something
Sweet to eat
I want
A warm bed
A good book

A worthy conversation
With someone
I respect

I want
To pay the bills

I want to write raw
Down to the bone
From the soul
The truth
No matter what
Without caring to
Please anyone

I want to shadow dance
In his kitchen
With a snake
On my arm
In an amber light

Wearing only a hat