on the fridge door
now
a small erasable
white board
sits.
a small erasable pen
perches
magnitized
hooked onto
the freezer’s
heavy door.
in the mornings
now
i look forward
to
stumbling into
the kitchen
reaching for
the coffee pot
or a giant mug
to hold the
green/ginger tea
that nudges me
toward wakefulness.
its then i read
her early words
written before
dawn’s
light, always realizing
how i’ve missed this,
her wordy wisdom.
now its
the marker
distinguishing
what’s worth
saving
and what’s
not
she writes for me
now
as she did
twelve
years ago
when her words
captured and seduced.
she writes again
her poetry,
affirmation-like,
sits, well-intentioned
meant to heal me.
these morning kindnesses
are given
without
pretentious edges,
sans the soapbox’s
unsturdiness,
without a lectern’s
formalities, and
without the discomfort
of the therapist’s
couch
with wounds patched
early on,
a day
becomes easier
to face
sometimes.
permanent marker
and multiple
non-erasable
boards filled with
these
saving graces
could be
my graffiti,
a new and necessary
wallpaper.
this way
her
poems
and me
could
both be saved..
at the same
time
there is so much love in the relationship between writer and subject. so tender. lovely, really…