Heidi Seaborn 

Love 

there’s so much I don’t tell you. How the way

you say yes gets me every time. I languish

in the language of our morning. Could grow

old under the moon that bends through our skylight.

Marooned in this late life marriage, I’ve come to desire

our isolation. There’s an elderly couple

that walk hand-in-hand past our home most days.

I’ve stopped imagining us. Sometimes, I bite

off a question as if it’s a piece of chocolate, let it warm

in my mouth, savor the dark sweetness of unknowing.

When first a heatwave and finally a storm killed

the plum tree, I mourned spring and the stupid love

of everything pink. But you cut the plum tree

into firewood, and on my birthday, we burned it all.

After Viewing Helen Frankenthaler’s “Flirt”

haven’t we

oh rosy morning

yesterday a rain-

bow seen

between long-legged

palms reaching

you first

the sun a bit too

unconcerned

everywhere ocean

tide nibbling streets

once I waved to a

stranger

and then, we

I hear the future

is green

furry shadows arch

their backs

like cats

come close before

eucalyptus

silver the ground

with bells

let’s drink

yes I’m alone

in the cactus

beneath the sunshine

orange and blossoming

all this blush and

bird trill

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