Maker

The sauce goes on top
not inside
they tell me

Stone pushes back
on the force of a hand
gripping the muddle

Smile overshadows lip quiver
in present company

Another lime may break the spirit
of the dish

a past life
of the maker

Where are you now?

Where are you now?

You look past me toward the kitchen sink inside

as you wait for an answer to your question.

I pause, say nothing

and wonder briefly what you’re looking at.

You’re usually preoccupied

with thought

your next venture 

who will look your way;

impressed by the gold and white hue

to the new wooden floor

and the placement of the roasted tomato

on your plate

surrounded by dainty edible flowers.

So this is nothing new.

Kids play in the yard below

sword fighting with metal sticks

typically used for roasting marshmallows.

I look past you, at the one with golden locks

barefoot—her toes in the creek

that runs through the manicured yard.

She smiles,

looks up, and catches my eye.

I forget to answer

and make my way down to her

the keys of your grand piano echoing

through thin glass windows.

© 2017 d.c.p.

Propel

Cold world catches

the morning sun on my face

creased by a silk pillowcase.

Sometimes we take what we’re given --

maybe it’s time to throw back

the excess of what we never really lacked.

Last time I checked

there were no eyes

on the back of my head

so I’ll keep staring straight ahead.

To the death!

I raise my glass
and forget.

© 2016 d.c.p. 

The Scene

I arrived at the scene

carrying my weight

in Russian vodka

in case of a storm.

The ominous sky

threatened to close the deal

when you showed up swinging

after a day of hard labor.

You took the flask

and pounded what was left

threw the empty toward the clouds

and drew in a cold breath.

You are the type

who would never admit defeat

in the presence of strangers

as the sky came falling down.

© 2016 d.c.p.

From a Distance

The star is lit

plastered to the side

of the snow-dusted mountain.

Headlights navigate the switchbacks

From a distance

A woozy back and forth dance.

The night here is calm and silent,

Unlike the rest of the world.

From a distance I imagine

grabbing the top of the star

and dangling my legs down in free motion

swinging from side to side

body reliant on stubborn trembling arms

head tipped back

in line with the moon

glowing in the light.

At that moment

apathy sets in

and I do not care

whether or not

I would be seen at all

from a distance.

© 2015 d.c.p.

Over Dinner

Defiance misspoke

and spilled a platter of words

clear and whole-hearted.

© 2015 d.c.p. 

The Sound of Rain

Left ear to window
rain falls onto the wicker chair
weathered from days of this
months of this.
Steady drumming meets
violin on the tiny speaker
perched on the porch swing.
No TV tonight.
Only rain to fill the void...
and so effortlessly
succinctly
with each drip
into the glass 
that will remain left
outside
throughout the night.


© 2015 d.c.p.