plum souls

. . . poetry and reflection from my four years as the other woman. . .

Category: poetry


This morning different trees wait for my attention.

I am quiet, absorbed by your touch,

still shimmering on the back of my wrist,

or maybe it’s just my own hair, still platinum from summer,

the color of a lullaby (did you say it or did I?)

. . .

Watch how I turn everything into you-

blue ink on a reciept,

crimson leaves on my car,

open windows I walk past.

I lost my interest in nature,

obsessed instead with touching soft things-

a velvet button becomes the Earth’s vital core, and

while I am there, the leaves changed,

subtle as shifting stars.

. . .

I’m in a new season with you,

free of all I think,

free of remembering,

and I don’t have to tell you anything

because you already know.


Poem Written During a Week Without

Hateful week,

the rainy frustration of you, nowhere to be found.

I’ve lost my watch,

the days squish like soggy ashes,

sitting still, unyielding to moon or stars.

. . .

Do you know I loved sitting on that wall next to you,

bushes scratching my bare shoulder like kitten claws?

Do you know I count each moment like a bead,

string them on the transparent floss

of laughter until I have length enough to wind up my arm?

. . .


I never told you more than I like your tie.

Not a word of we belong.

. . .

But where are you and don’t you know

you should be here with me?

Because I have a light for you,

growing like a tigerlilly

out of the pulp of this gray week.


Driving Poem

Driving North with you in the music,

my arms in twilight remind me how you make

the world feel gentle around me.

. . .

I sing words that are not mine.

I sing words in cracked and shabby voice,

words that make me desperate for language to tell you

all the ways I learned to break my own heart.

. .

Sitting still, moving forward.

Dusk dyes a flock of sheep indigo.

. . .

Let me tell you things I recall to pass time,

(because you are everywhere now,

throbbing against me like gravity in this music)

such as,

I saw your thumbprint and mine

woven together on a small pane of blue glass,

hatched intricately,


like delicate grooves in a shell.


Last Day of Summer

Dolphin colored sky. 

I walk towards that spot in the sand

where we may or may not have sat through dusk and the noise of others 

until the vault of heaven opened, giving me words

(“Look! The stars!” )

before I realized you only wanted to touch my silence. 

Is is that when it started?

The waves curled into infinite qiestion marks and 

we suddenly realized we were in darkness, 

the world no longer the same,

 our skin no longer our own. 

Is that when I became this creature in a shell,

opening and closing to let you nourish me

with all the healing properties of salt water?