Eggs for Breakfast



I just want to love you,
he said
And make you eggs for breakfast
Louise smiled and believed him
And as she sat
in her car still running,
she knew he did love her, really.
Really: a love so real it
could not really be called merely love
but something much closer to
Emptiness,
a hole that swallowed her whole
as the wretched cradle of night
enveloped her like
the ratio of exhaust to oxygen.

He said a prayer she got home safely
but when she sat in the darkness,
in the driver's seat,
the driveway unlit
(unlike her cigarette)
she swore to herself
she would never sell out to hopes
of marriage or kids,
She sat alone
and in her mind saw his teeth
Flash like metal.

As she uncorked the bottle
all she could think of was
the time her father fell down
the stairs, drunk,
When she was a child,
riding on his shoulders-
a Bitter reminder
of what it really means
to aim for the top.
She chased the little pill
with Bitter memories
and heard his echoed warning,
Let go of the past
only the past wasn't the cause
of the burning in her gut
or the oil-slick stains
on her cheeks.

Stop brooding,
he told her
don't ruin a perfectly nice evening
and when he went home
to a warm home full of old friends
and a quilt Mamaw wove
just for him
She let go of her faith,
Watched it slide, scurry away
Quickly into the cold like a tiny,
lost puppy.

No one is around to assign blame,
or guilt
for expectations
that are futile in the wake
of life's open eyes,
Sleep now,
her mother said
and forget
that the only one
Worth depending on
is scrutinizing your
trembling hands in the mirror.

Dec. 1, 2010


Today is my dead grandmother's birthday
But I found myself not feeling much like her
In my car, this morning,
I reminded myself much more of my father.
Instead of bringing coffee from home,
poured purposefully
into my "eco-friendly" travel mug,
I stopped to buy cheap black coffee
from the little Mexican food joint
on the corner,
the one with authentic dishes and
a small fire burning in a
miniscule wood stove in the brick wall.
I drank from a white styrofoam cup
that contained far too much coffee for
one individual in one sitting,
even on such a cold morning.

Days like these I am painfully aware
of the time that passes,
before our
very eyes like the lives
of loved ones
or the breath between our lips
as children blowing out
birthday candle flames,
still unaware that wishful thinking
is only prolonging the inevitable.