Yours

I am yours,
and that's the problem,
isn't it? That there
is no chase, no thrill,
nothing to question or
challenge your aliveness,
your worth.
You are good enough for me,
and that's not good enough for you.

Xanthippe

This is who I am.
A quarrelsome woman.
A nagging woman.

This is me,
never being able to say sorry
enough to fix
what I have done
to you.

I am Xanthippe,
and I am sorry,
and I am heartbroken,
and I am lost.

I am without you,
by no one's fault
but my own.

Laundering

I'm making copies,
making prints,
of social currency -
laughter, smiles,
concerned looks -
hoping no one notices
my subtle treachery.

Counterfeit words,
and counterfeit expressions,
all these and more,
from made up life lessons.

I know it's all fake,
but I hope you won't notice,
until it's too late
and I won't have to show this.

Elephants

Don't think
about the pink ones --
you are, aren't you?

They stand in the midst
of this kitchen,
of our conversation,
pretending to be comfortable,
as if they are nothing out
of the ordinary.

They pretend they belong,
much the way we do.
They pretend they are not wrong,
much the way we do.

Ignore the big one
over there, by the furnace,
like you ignore the meanings
in everything I say.

These elephants won't
just go away.

Broken

Everyone is broken here;
not one person is whole.
Everyone is distrustful here;
they all wonder what you stole.
Everyone is lonely here;
a million people, all alone.
Everyone is cold here;
A million people, all with hearts of stone.
Everyone is helpless here;
no one knows what to do.
If you stay too long here,
You will end up broken, too.