a little after four in the afternoon

smoking
I catch my father in the glass
staring back at me
with half lidded eyes

but the curls give it away
his hair is too long
cheeks too soft
I look left
and his gaze follows me

looking straight ahead
we engage in that classic contest of wills
staring each other down
we crack simultaneously blinking and looking away

Me, looking for my mother.
him, looking for I know not what.
I see her soft cheeks
and round eyes
as I lift my lids up
to greet my own

The perils of swimming

His body upon me
weight on my back
shadows in the dark.
suddenly,
the tide has me
I've swum beyond my depth.
I'm dragged out to sea
drowning
in my memory of pain.

His body upon me

I transcend time and space.

 fourteen  and tipsy on wine

impressed by a senior letterman jacket,

I don't notice the change in tide

until the water's to deep to swim.

His body upon me
my cries are swallowed by the waves.
my insides burn
I float face down
like driftwood
tossed about by the tide
discarded by the sea.

late at night

                                                                                                                    Late at night

                                                                                      you sneak into my thoughts

                                                                                like the early morning sun

                                                                              streams into my room

                                                        through the cracks in the curtains

                                                                              so carefully hung

                                                                  tucked behind the books

                                                    and that camera I never returned

                                                             I cannot shake loose the dust

                                                                                      of your memory

                                                                                          no, I am pinned

                                                                                                  like my curtains

                                                                                              shut tight against the sun

                                                                                                that creeps into my thoughts

                                                                                                                                  late at night.