It’s three degrees outside.
The house seems
to be moaning.
It’s making
sounds I’ve never heard before.
“I understand,”
I say out loud,
trying to comfort the empty room.
It’s brutally cold outside.
I was thinking
that maybe
I should build a fire.
There are a lot of things
I should do,
so many things.
But instead,
I just sit here and drink coffee.
It’s lukewarm.
Black,
and strong.
From the couch,
under my blanket,
I sip coffee strong enough
to strip paint,
and look at the fireplace
thinking about all the things
I should be doing.
But doing
often means saying
and saying often means talking.
I don’t trust my words
or the things
that might fall
out of my mouth
when I open it.
So I just sit
and sip my coffee.
I listen to the house,
as the cold day
takes its toll on her.
Tag: jeremiah ray literature
Autumn Light
Where am I headed?
Is this the right path
for me?
I watch the sun
move across the wall.
It is the autumn sun
moving quickly,
and I still have not
found my shadow
in its faint autumn light.
the language
I speak a foreign language.
It feels like there are endless syllables and countless vowels,
And I speak it alone.
All I want is to feel good in my body and connect with someone else.
But I feel tangled
in a language that only I seem to understand.
When I speak, it feels heavy in ways I can’t describe.
It brings out meanings I never meant.
I kept my desire for pleasure and true connection to myself,
afraid of how much
my words might weigh on someone.
Then gentle fingers touched my lips and quieted the sounds.
A mouth met mine and took my words away.
Every syllable and vowel slowly faded.
As each sound lingered,
A voice, speaking my language, said,
I hear you.
I know your intentions.
I understand.
Speak without fear.
Speak honestly and
rest here, open and true
free from worry.
my longing for physical pleasure
and the sense of real connection came back.
With the language we both understand,
the language we share together,
We can show each other who we really are.
We will trace letters with our tongues,
and with soft breaths on our necks, we will write our stories.
the snow
The snow
had fallen overnight.
I was asleep.
I was away.
Somewhere far away.
Why always
away?
restless
a storm is coming
in the sky to the west
the sun is setting
a slender ribbon of light
trapped between nightfall
and restless clouds
birds
the sky is getting lighter, and the day has just begun.
the birds woke me up early.
the sky is getting lighter, and the day has just begun.
how could i be upset with the birds?
drip
pattern
of melt-water
drip
the breeze stirs
the chimes
they brush against
bare branches
the breeze slows
melt-water
dripping
silhouettes
silhouettes of trees
dusk
blue sky fading
branches breathe in the
wind
wind
the wind
passes through
the trees
bare branches
sway
then the house
starts to creak
we are
talking
the snow is deep
the snow
does not pile up
It was never meant to last
but I lose track of where it
falls across the fields
the ones untouched by wanderers
unmarked except for
a tree that breaks up the
rolling surface
there, the snow is deep
It was meant to be there