First Snow
It was the first snowfall
of the season.
Our boots crunched
crunched, crunched
through the street
as we walked
down our avenue.
We laughed,
we sang,
our voices bright
in the cold.
A neighbor heard us,
came out grinning,
pelted us with snowballs.
We scattered, shouting,
our breath rising
in steamy clouds
that drifted,
then vanished.
We were living
inside that moment,
not yet knowing
how alive we were.
My Rescue Dog
His smelly breath greets me each morning
as he crawls into my warm bed.
Those sad eyes plead for attention
at five‑thirty a.m., he isn’t picky.
He’ll take anything:
a scratch behind the ears,
an arm draped over his back,
the simple comfort of being pulled close.
We drift back to sleep for a while.
When I wake again, he’s staring at me,
as if I’m the best human on earth
and he’s a small, furry god.
I don’t correct him
A strong woman pulls at her heart
with both hands,
knuckles swollen, skin split,
eyes worn soft at the edges
by years of salt.
A strong woman keeps her truths
just behind the breastbone.
She swallows what rises,
lets it burn its way down.
A strong woman will hold you, stroke your hair,
and coo,
Shush now, my darling,
my turtle dove.
Her love does not break under the weight.
It learns the shape of it.
A strong woman carries generations
like dust in her lungs.
She weeps at the small, steady drum
of a child against her chest.
She tells you stories
as if they are roads she’s still walking.
A strong woman lifts her head from the pillow
each morning,
grateful for one more day
to pull at the thread of her becoming.
At night, she leans into the dark
and whispers,
Keep me still.
What can you discover?
What can you create?
Inside yourself,
What do you see?
past your feelings
your emotions
past your thoughts
in the crevices
where memories collect
where shadows float
moving in and out
like fog at dusk.
This is who we are.
Reality does not exist
in front of our eyes,
does not exist
right behind our eyes.
It exists in the folds,
in the creases,
in the small voice
inside of us
that breathes
I do not know you.
I wrap around your fingers, like modeling clay, as you squeeze it.
You squeeze, roll me between your palms, then flatten me again.
Taking the shapes your hands create, moving to the force of you.
What if Gumby had copped an attitude, jumped on Pokey, and run?
What if Gumby found himself and said, no more steamroller, I am a man?
No more molding me, no more flexy clay for your whims, desires.
What if I jumped into my jeep and rode off, and took my playdough heart?
What if I find myself and say no more re-creating me? I am a woman.
I have a life force of my own, my own yearnings, burnings, inner fires.
What if you flex and bend, what if you change and evolve, what if…
I become your equal, your friend, your lover, and I join you at the core.
What if we put away the heart-shaped cookie cutters and just be?
We tried to create love
out of piles of ashes
from the blitzkriegs
of our childhoods.
Using saliva
from wet kisses
as mortar to
to fortify this
crumbling love.
Intense flames
of anger, of bitterness,
dried out our false idol
and it collapsed
blowing away
In the winds of truth.
You feigned sorrow
at its ruin.
after acts of empty cruelty
you brought offerings
laying them gently
at my feet.
Like a cat bringing
a dead mouse
you are saying
I am sorry.
You gathered our memories
putting them in a box
Hundreds of pictures
encapsulating our journey
Then you packed your things
and took the next flight out
Across the country to L.A.
to begin your new life
A journey without me
You ditched the pictures
in a dumpster behind a
Minimart in Arcadia
On West Duarte Road
Slammed the lid closed
Drove away and never
Glanced back, not once
The Moment
Her scent beckons—
Come, take me to wonder.
Her eyes speak in silence;
She holds answers to mysteries,
Resting in the small of her back.
I could name constellations
In every galaxy under heaven.
Her body, a painter’s dream—
I trace it gently with my fingertips;
Each stroke reveals new beauty.
Secrets drift from hidden places,
Filling my mind with liquid verse—
Sounds to be interpreted by the heart,
Blinded by the moment of passion and longing.
After pleasure has quieted us,
We lie together,
Her fingers in my hair,
Stroking me to sleep.
When love is gone,
A moment etched forever in my mind-
memories do not die.
This Blog is a new beginning. A place to display my original Poetry, Essays, Short Stories. A place to express myself to foster creative growth and healing. If you stumbled upon this site I hope you find something that touches a part of you. Shadow Poet
Shadow Poet 