The Coat Hanger

Left hand, right hand …
you were taught to work.

Life is like a coat hanger.

Left hand, right hand …
pick up, put down,
bend and push,
left hand, right hand …
count to five,
reach for the sky,
look what a big girl you are.

And life’s a coat hanger.

Left hand …
write more pretty words,
don’t be a brat.
Right hand …
keep going, just keep going,
it will make us proud.

Left hand, right hand …
cut, chop, stir,
cut and cut,
and leave until it all boils over.
Left hand, right hand …
everybody leaves,
everybody heals.

Life’s still a coat hanger.

Right hand …
what have you forgotten?
Sign here, please.
Right hand …
stretch out, grab and hold on.
Have you turned off the stove?
Have you fallen in love?
Left hand …
what is forever?
What do you believe?
Left hand …
push the stroller down the street,
turn the wheel.

A coat hanger.

Left hand, right hand …
flip the pages,
Left hand …
you’ve done well,
sometimes slightly better.
Right hand …
but it’s not always enough.
We thought you were happy.

Left hand, right hand.
Life’s a coat hanger.
You are the coat.

Writer’s Block

when the words get stuck,
I force them out of me
to tell the silent world
of my fear of losing;
to tell
how scared I am
of people walking out on me,
and of the loneliness
that lurks behind.
But the fickle little things
refuse to rhyme,
so I crumble up the paper
and toss it far way,
leaving myself
sitting here
without a way
to say I’m sorry,
without a way
to ask them
not to leave,
or to beg for them
to stay …


a lonely body                                 a company of two
in a bed for two                             a bed made for one
warmth                                             the heat
and empty space                          of uncovered bodies
only pillows                                    the cold creeps in
to rest your head                           the smell of sweat
the air light                                      rustling sheets
and oh, so quiet                             and heavy breathing
laying flat                                         squeezed into a corner
with room right next to you       a kick, a push
for the invisible love                     to claim your side
that keeps you cold                       reaching out in darkness
cry out in the night                        a hand waiting
and feel the silence                       an arm wrapped round your body
calling back                                      bow-tied embrace
toss and turn                                    restrain from moving

fall asleep
and dream
then wake up

and fall                                                    and land


On A Rainy Day

On a rainy day
like today
very little can be said.
In loss of words
you simply open the window
and think,
or maybe try not to,
and you wish
tomorrow won’t be wetter.
On a rainy day
like today
you waste away the time,
stare into the clouds,
and you convince yourself
it’s not loneliness
you’re hearing.
It’s just the rain.

Ceiling Lamp

Staring into
a ceiling lamp
is the only thing
that brings you joy.
Babies are crying
down the hallway.
Babies are crying
down every hallway
of this world,
and you can hear
all of them at once.
But you stare
into the ceiling lamp,
and smile
ever so slightly
so nobody notices.
Babies stopped crying,
the silence is shy,
and now they stare at you
staring at the lamp.
They see you smile,
and they too
stare at the lamp
to see
what all of the smiling
is truly about.
While everybody is staring,
the ceiling lamp smiles back
ever so slightly
so nobody notices.