Tag Archives: anger

For Better or Worse

His memory lingers
long after the last door slam,
to unsettle emotions
and distort newly held beliefs
His legacy bequeathed
in the divorce settlement
are ripples on a mirror surface. . .
the crinkles of eyes laughing
arms meant for holding,
thoughtful insight of a kind
rarely seen in the eyes of men.
And yet,
the papers speak
of a different reality,
of dreams gone awry,
and a world spinning of balance.
No regrets –
but sometimes, in quiet moments,
when I forget to raise my shields,
the memory of his eyes
as he made love to me
tears at my heart,
that I remember
there won’t be another
such as he . . .
for better or worse.

In times of greatest anger
I find myself wondering
where did that great love go?
It is here, pocketed within secret places,
to emerge in the peace of the night
and remind me
how great the loss was
to walk away in anger
and carry the love.

Just a Plaything

This is an adult relationship
one not full of fantasies.
We’ve known each other
so very long –
before two marriages and after them.

And suddenly you were there
to fulfill the desires put in play
when we worked together –
but you were married, then I was.
I knew there was someone you
loved more – that I was a dalliance
until she finally broke down
and said yes.

Then you were gone,
no explanation, no call, no letter –
just gone   . . .
one night I didn’t want sex
and that was it.
What gets me most is how you ended it –
I could accept a quiet, this is not working,
But not a No Vacancy sign swinging in the wind.

.

 

 

 

Misplaced Rage

Huddled on the sidelines
I watch
as you argue, berate
those to whom anger
does not belong . . .

Yet understand,
for learning confrontation
is a painful process
taken in tiny steps
a little at a time,
until strength is gained.

And you know,
even as the argument wanes
understanding of your actions
shines clearly in your eyes,
and that haunted look
of a child who has wronged
creeps across your brow.

But the time
has not yet come
for anger to be placed
where it belongs –
inner pain still holds
too firm a grasp,
and fear of rejection
looms as too harsh a reality.

Better the waiter,
life guards, clerks, delivery people –
they are accustomed
to undeserved pettiness . . .
soon the day may come
when you can look your tormentor
in the eye and spit back
the grief and rage
hoarded in years of submissiveness.

But for now –
where does the waiter go
at day’s end
and who becomes
the unwilling victim
of his pain . . .
where does the cycle end?

I walk down
a leaf-strewn street
and glance upon a dog
with tail tucked between legs –
and cry . . .