ATONEMENT

An unworthy deed, an unkind word
The deepest hurt unleashed
Ongoing rift, abyss
Nothing left unsaid that doesn't crowd my heart
Engaging anger, then despair, and, at last, acceptance.
Myself poured out on the altar
Enveloped in my need for family and understanding
Not so long ago I offered myself up
To solve our differences, but you said no.

Are you happy?


I wish there had been a table between the two of us
our hands folded together upon it
when you looked up at me, sincerely asking,
Are you happy?
I wished you'd asked me more than once in thirty years.

You were at the kitchen table paying bills, I
was anchored at the stovetop turning something into dinner,
while the grandkids chattered noisily between us.  I was, at that moment,
content to hear their little voices like music drifting through
and over us.  You seemed to want to hear, Yes, yes, wildly so!

I hesitated then said, Right now...yes, moderately.
Moderately, you repeated with a half-smile, neither pleased or displeased.
At peace, at least, I explained.  You stared at me in silence
as if wanting more of an explanation, something that is not
common between us.  I continued on,

I like the house, and the garden is so lovely, and the grandkids
are so sweet, blathering on until the interest faded from your eyes
and one of us was needed to solve a small child's problem.
All those days of quiet between us when I longed
for your strong hand around mine and a conversation that began with

Are you happy?

The landscape of dreams
An uneven belief that I will recover
From what is said and what is seen.
Recover to midnight in my own room,
or to morning.
No sense making meaning, but
I ponder hours into the day wondering
What was I trying to say to Myself.

I Prefer


My small side garden where
a cabbage butterfly plays chase
with its twin and the sun is
scalding the color out of the sky, where
the unpainted fence is brindled
with leafy, limbed shadows
the shrubs left behind.  Here the dull
clunk of the wooden wind-chimes and
the mumble of bees down deep purple
throats are music.  There are pots and beds
full of blackening compost and discarded
leaves and petals lay on the lawn.