The Wind Comes and Takes Thalia

The wind comes and takes.

I stand outside the apartment

And write your name on a dried leaf in mad, crabwalking letters.

When I close my fist, bits of Thalia fall from among my fingers.

The wind comes and takes

Those who are cowards in the face of emotional risk.

We trade chairs. 

I would write your name on the petal whorl

But then it wouldn't fly when the wind comes.

Instead there is ink on my hands

From when the leaf cracked

Under the pressure of the marker as I dotted the i

And black bled into the rills of my palm.

You remind me it becomes a comedy

If in the end we both are married—

Though not necessarily to each other—

And you laugh while you try to pry open my fingers.

I give my tongue to the cat

And open my hand to the wind, which comes and takes.

Drinking Alone In My Apartment on New Year's Eve

A) Would not be half so embarrassing
If I didn't feel compelled to write about it
But here I jolly well am, aren't I

B) Tastes more like quinine
Than anything else

C) Is lit with a ring of sweet olive candles
I lean away from to avoid
Setting the place on fire with my breath

D) Is only depressing if I stop believing

That next year will be different

Somehow