The tree stands 
now gaily decorated 
like some ma’am
waiting for ride
her bracelets baubles 
and broaches twinkling 
as her hands
covering and crossing 
hiding her anxiety 
every year it’s 
the same until
the presents arrive 
that are grandchildren 
and which sit
happily beneath her 

I’ve started over 
so many times 
I’ve lost count 
starting from scratch 
ain’t so bad 
nothing beats a 
clean slate upon
which to draw 
erase those errors 
and unnecessary lines 
the thing about 
having nothing is
that everything gained 
is a treasure 

Morning clouds hang
like long overcoats 
tucked deep within 
a cedar closet 
and beneath which 
I quietly hide
smelling stale perfume 
and cigarette smoke 
plump with promise 
of parties and 
precipitation these coat
clouds wait patiently 
for their turn 

To say that 
I lost would 
be true but 
I have learned 
that even loss
brings with it
its own win
for with loss 
frequently comes start
for no loss 
is ever easy 
nor is end

I shall dip
my toes in
but I will 
no longer bathe
in this thing 
commonly called life 
I have sat
at its table 
had my fill
and I’m done 
me I’d rather 
sit under my
tree and snack
from a basket 
of music and 
poetry and dream 
for its in
these simple things 
of my heart 
I am satisfied