Poet, Author, Editor, Creative Writing Consultant

Monday, June 17, 2019


These days I take my tea without sugar,
And I like the music turned down low.
I have less appetite for small talk, 

And I like books that are short but truthful. 
I love you but I don’t want to own you. 
When you’re gone, I will miss you
But not too much; I have my writing. 
I start shows on Netflix and abandon them. 
I look up at the sky and am transfixed. 
I look also at the banyan tree’s roots 
On some nights while going home; 
The roots hanging long and still, 
Like a sleeping woman’s hair 
Hanging off of the edge of the bed. 
I have less and less to say to people. 
I tune into silence with alacrity, 
Like it’s a preferred radio station. 
I am casting off old darlings 
One by one; sugar, sound, drama. 
“Well, dear, life is a casting off. 
It was always that way.” 
I remember those lines 
From an Arthur Miller play. 
Am I getting older and wiser, 
Or merely older and colder? 
How to be sure? 
Maybe I don’t want to be sure;
I’ll cast off that darling too; 
The need to feel sure.
What was that?
Do I need anything?
No, my dear.
Well, maybe a cup of tea,
If you’re having some too.
Warm, not piping hot.
And no sugar.

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