Patience

My fingers sound like typewriters
each a click-i-ty-clack across the glass
filing down my nails to nubs of what once was.
And I am waiting patiently.
Screaming with my patience.
Twisting hair and chewing cheeks with all that is my patience.

It was one small fingernail that made me pause;
lying on the countertop
one pristine fingertip
a piece of me that came undone
in the midst of my accommodating, uncomplaining, patient click and clack.
It lie there as a gem, glistening in the light, spinning ever so.
It was then I told the rest of my small hand to just hold tight;
do not go the way of that stray bit,
there is reason still for staying on
and clicking with the rest.
It was then I learned what patience meant:
When there is more to type.

Atheist

Lover
you tell me
the world does not exist in such a sunlight.
Open up those crystal eyes
you whisper in my hair.

I balk
but it has taken all my life
to walk into the basement dark
and see the daylight there.
We live in such a glow
not because we do
but because we must!
All I have discovered will not be in error.  Take care 
to watch the morning with me once
without the inquisition.
Information is not all we have.

And even as I say it
I am sorry for the lie.

Synthesize

The body in me was screaming, crying out with rage.
All it ached for was one run, one sprint, one jog across the land.
I couldn’t give it that. Couldn’t trust my knees not to buckle from the weight,
that my thighs were strong enough to keep me standing.
I couldn’t play
and so my body starved, and sobbed and pleaded;
just one tiny jaunt, a walk, a step.
I couldn’t give it that.
Not one toe.
And so the body left;
put together pieces in a case, took flight away.
What was left is what you see.
In perfect order.
Well-thought out.
Decisive.
Intellectual.
Sound in mind
and lacking in what’s real;
what once had been the very essence, the awful everything of me.