Mel Mackie

If one asked me how I felt for you today,
I would simply say, 'uninspired.'
My brushes won't paint for you,
my voice can't sing your praises.
...

I shouldn't rip the pages out.
It leaves uneven numbers,
and loose threads,
ideas with no past,
...

Be present.
steam rising from bowl,
smiling tigers,
gold and crimson,
...

So what of the lace curtains
and mismatched socks?
Wrinkled log, stray umbrella
browning foliage framing
...

My familiar eyes see you
in an unfamiliar light.
Some of the kindness
has gone from your eyes now.
...

That night I sat by the river,
the slivers of light fragmented by ripples
on the deceptively still surface.
It flows here now, but this is a new path,
...

Your mother's mother
is not simply
some ancient creature
whose manner you disdain.
...

When the snow melts, it washes
away all the illusions of beauty, and
magic and romance.
So a castle becomes a cold pile of bricks,
...

I sit with you, our solitude
exaggerated
by the loud chatter of voices.
The white perfume
...

My friend, you are the moon,
the mirror of the brightest star
that is the source of life.
You illuminate raindrops on the thorns
...

my faith in you
is a thin veil of ice
cracking
beneath my feet.
...

Your absence will not cause
the wind to blow,
the trees to sway,
or the water to rise.
...

The beauty of the moment is
that every day is new.
Everything is everything,
as everything is nothing,
...

If you loved me, you wouldn't leave my side,
except to travel across each time zone
to steal the deepest reds from every sunset
and paint me murals of roses in winter.
...