Heart Failure

My heart surrendered.
Too many years beating for the wrong
Reasons–sure, got the blood going
Where it needed to be, kept the brain
On top of itself, all the billion cells
Cavorting in the dance of division.

But in all else, it failed,
the heart, failed to do duty
as eyes and ears, failed
to see what was in plain sight
failed to hear the cues,
or listen and know when to quit
the stage. It kept its hungry
longing alive, stuffed itself on whatever
felt good, no matter if it was right
or deadly–was not its place
to decide. It had a mind

all its own. It wanted
what it wanted. It took what it
could get. If it had to break
a thousand times into a million
pieces, it kept its steady drone.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Pulsing,
because once it started,
stopping felt like death.



My Husband Does the Wash


The day you turned Springsteen blue
Crushed something in my heart.
What we talk about when we talk
Is never what we mean. I like to keep things
Clean, but you don’t see the dirt.
I sort by category and weight
I read labels, and experience.
Rayon shrinks, deep colors bleed.
You say you will cover it up, the blue
BVDs and the grey undershirts. I wear
Everything on my sleeve, including old
Memories of Bruce, center stage
On my mind’s eye, his guitar tuned
To the beat in my pulse.


key words: laundry, Bruce Springsteen, relationships