Wednesday, February 20, 2008

After Valentine's ay

for Emma

Having given up

the charade of

freshness, of

forecasting Spring,


mauve tulips

sagged, their

wide heads hung

over the side of the

proud little vase,

nearly touching

the cool marble

table, seeking


“You pansies,”

I laughed,

wondering whether

to grab my camera

or pen. I checked

the light coming in.

Beside the beaten


an unopened

heart-shaped tin,

held foil-covered

Ferraro chocolates.

This gift from tender

teenaged hands --


with promise.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Mystery Pen

Wouldn't the Mercy nuns have loved to
to snatch this miniscule pen from my grip?
This is like a James Bond Pen. No--
This is like a girlfriend of James Bond's pen.
Someone who wouldn't ever use it,
except to watch the urgent message
disappear in thirty hushed seconds.
This is the thinnest pen you'll ever find,
chic, skinny black Mont Blanc, slim
like a julienned carrot, ready for ranch
dip dipping. Its secret, real purpose
has yet to be revealed. Some
perfume or poison, some odorless,
memory-removing puff of air
could be emerging even now,
as I dare to try it out
for my mundane needs.