coming home

I imagine you on the flat two-lane roads,
coming on ahead of the weather.

Behind you, a blizzard falls out of the northwest,
the kind that nearly froze Pa Ingalls as he stumbled blindly
past the barn, past the corner of the house,
into open prairie.
Snow drifts against your mother's headstone,
softens the print your left hand made
in the frozen earth at the base.

I hear you sang today, the Lord's Prayer,
to a roomful of mourners;
and in between the lines Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done,
they could hear the dripping from the eaves.
A warm wind; the lull of comfort
that softens the earth a little before the storm.

If I'm going to crack
in the middle of a service, it's usually
right there -
Thy kingdom come
(and the sharpness of longing)
Thy will be done
(and the joyful fruitlessness
of submission)
On earth as it is
in Heaven.
You can't sing if you're crying,
you can only whisper your prayers.

Dry pavement under your wheels,
thin shoulders squared to
what's behind you.
The whiteness comes on, obliterating stars,
and I hope your clear blue voice
rests now; on the earth
where it welcomed you,
that your tears had their turn.

Yellow cake

You hate yellow cake.
Yielding and meek.

you could level a man twice my weight,
you like to say,
and I want to watch.
you are twice me.
angry all the time and sad, all the time
and loving, loudly loving, all the time.
reported aggressive, flagrant, persistent:
your martial arts.

You've never raised your voice to me.
In all the years
and only once have told me to shut. up.
(Some kind of record.)
I know you've been
a punching bag, more than once.
And a cushion, in your largeness, for the weight
of men, and you've had better sex than I
by far, I fear.

But never yellow cake. Never mild,
though your hair and skin would argue.

You're yellow as a steamshovel,
a loudmouthedbitch and
pushy blonde,
with creamy icing skin and
round blue candy eyes.

double negative

I can't not love you.
I can't not want you,
late at night before I fall asleep,
and first thing waking, still warm
No matter how I pray;
because you are my calm
as well as my conflict.
I cannot make myself pick up the hammer
and assault the final barrier between us
because that would change
everything
And not for the better.
It takes the double-negative
of not-not-loving,
not-not-wanting,
and for good measure
not telling you the truth
To balance out my endless passion
for what does not
does not
belong to me.