Photo by André Souroujon

Making up
        a cinquain

Held tight
inside me you
make up for forgetting
my birthday with every warm push
and pull.
 

 

The Holiday Cinquain Collection

I
 
No Presence

How sweet
of you to dump
me right before Christmas.
I can hock your golf clubs for some
new shoes.
 

II

Precaution

Let’s kiss
before the clock
strikes twelve. Nostradamus
might have been right about more than
Hitler.
 
 
III

Resolutions

I must
be born again,
bake the perfect peach pie,
and learn Japanese before the
world ends.
 

 

Advice to Sleeping Beauty

So a spell has created a glitch,
that forbids the whole kingdom to stitch;
they've burnt every spindle,
and bought you a thimble;
all this trouble for one little prick.


Advice to Little Red Riding Hood

When you head out today, little one,
let's defy the rumors you are dumb;
please be a bit wiser
than a wolf's appetizer,
and bring grandma home her shotgun.



Advice to the Little Mermaid

Well, that prince you saved is a real dish
and the sea-witch has granted your wish,
but before losing your tail
to that two legged male,
first make sure that he likes to eat fish.


 

Avoiding the Anniversary

That day three primary colors
replaced black                        
                                    I preferred black,
and I sat deep behind my
monitor and pretended
it was normal
to get a good-bye email
from my nervous cousin
                                    in case something happened on the subways
and attend a massive
memorial against my will.
 
Blind from all the dusty ghosts
floating in my eyes,
I used the tension
as sonar to make my way home.
Locked away,
I waited in silence
for the day to finally end
and a soft crying                         
                                    or was it laughing?
stole through my window,
its source disguised
by the echoing courtyard.


 

Voice Male

As I open my door, the blinking light
has seen I've arrived and quickens its pace,
and I freeze as if I'm in the wrong place.
Drawn by the secrets of that silent eye,
I contemplate, by the open fridge light,
whose powers of persuasion bloat my waist,
how to avoid it, not even one taste.
I know I must hear it to sleep tonight.
 
I try to ignore you, play hard to get,
tend to dying plants and underpaid bills,
but you know I'm only acting the part.
I pause for a moment, my hands are wet
as I pull my chair to the window sill
and firmly push you back into my heart.


 

Getting Ahead of Myself Again

I'll be some place like a morning meeting
where I should at least feign attention,
when I'll start drafting our wedding party
and deciding if it will look cumbersome
to hyphenate my name.
 
To check how we are coming along,
I'll count back two years
from an imagined marriage date
to our long anticipated engagement,
then back another year
to our decision to cohabitate,
made a practical amount of time
after our exchange
of those three little words,
which I hope to hear
around eight months from last night,
when, for the first time,
he suggested our future together
was sturdy enough to endure
until the safe return of his
cherished director's cut of
Blade Runner.