Icicles

1/22/11

I heard the sound of shattering today,

turned 'round to see a row of icicles

danging from an apse across the alley,

with one spot (second to the right) now empty.

Shouldn't be surprising that with this sun out,

shining,

the daggers of winter's delight would begin to thin,

their descent slinking closer.

A lifespan depending on the temperamental weather

and the will of the wind.

Sent a shock through my system,

a wave of worry that while I think I'm a wall,

solid stone, brick red,

I may instead be a frail weapon of ice

clinging to a rooftop,

in inch thick of life.

Made me dread sunshine and heat,

wonder if God's bones felt any sympathy

for me, my predicament, my desire to fill

a home instead of watching through curtains,

cursing windows and truth.

Speaking of homes I drove by yours today,

not on purpose (but sort of)... it was on my way

(that's the lie I swear by).

It looked cozy and safe.

Looked like it could protect you, better than I did I'm sure

but then I read you have doubts,

that your heart orbits round

several gravities, a weightless body

drifting in the celestial sway,

counting on shooting stars

to guide you - how's that working so far?

I believe in you, in your right to dream big and live it,

to have wishes erupt into reality every day,

to deserve each pancake your lover has made.

It aches when I hear you question your worth,

reminded of my Irish grandmother's warning that

"if these walls could see into our minds,

the house would fall to pieces."

Well I believe your house would go on standing,

not crumble, speechless at your thoughts

but kind to your pain.

Don't be made insane running circles into carpet.

you'll regret it in the morning.

While I worry I'm an icicle and quiver at the sun

you doubt that your deserving of the two-story Victorian

that loves you.

What a pair we always make.

Your walls won't fall sweet Samson.

The lumber's strong enough to take the darkness you hide,

the gusts that may blow.

Just because you cut your hair doesn't mean it'll all fall down.

So smile and enjoy it,

the beauty that has found you.

The chance is your's to take.

Your walls won't fall down sweet Samson

and my icicle won't break.

I think we just may turn out okay.