Mimi-Mona Love Poetry: What Are You Doing?

©WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

MORE OF THE DANCE
WITHIN THE DANCE?
ARE WE ALWAYS

GOING TO MEET ON THIS STAGE?
WILL WE EVER

TAKE OFF THESE COSTUMES?

YOUR SILENCE TOUCHES ME

IN WAYS THAT SEEM

NONSENSICAL

YET IT MAKES SENSE, TOO.

STILL, HERE I AM

WITH ALL MY WORDS

THAT FLOW LIKE WATER

FROM WINTER'S THAWING STREAM

AND I WONDER IF

YOU EVER THINK

SILENCE SHOULD TAKE BOTH,

YOU AND YOUR WORDS.

PLANES JETISON OVERHEAD,

THEIR CHEMTRAILS

A VISIBLE WARNING;

BUT SOME LOOK WITHOUT SEEING.

WILL WE EVER MEET

ANYONE WHO IS CENTERED?

YOU AND I ALWAYS KNOW

WHEN WE DO;
WE ALWAYS FEEL

A KIND OF CALM
EMANATING AND
RETURNING.

SOMETIMES I MIND

THAT STILLNESS FROM YOU;

TEACH ME. I WANT TO DANCE

THAT DANCE WITHIN THE DANCE

WITH YOU FOREVER,

WITHOUT OUR COSTUMES,

WITHOUT A SOUND.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Mimi-Mona Love Poetry: LOVE

©LOVE

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

PC was still working;

she wished he would retire.

Sometimes

he'd text her an aphorism—

yes, short and pithy— but funny,

and she'd laugh because

it was as though, once again,

they were reading the same book.

He liked to work with his hands;

lately there was only time to fix

those things that seemed to fall apart.

She was happiest when she wrote...

and painted...but those words

and those colors were not

broken or falling apart.

When she took a short walk,

that followed a meandering dirt path

and led her passed cactus-clad terraces,

she saw the most brilliant falling star—

she always made the same wish:

LOVE.

She loved his baritone voice

and his crooked little smile.

She loved that his hair was grizzled,

that he still called her, and that

they talked until the wee morning hours.

She'd smile. Mostly she loved it when

the cell phone in his pocket

would dial her number after three

days of not talking to him;

she knew it was calling the

last number dialed— she loved that it was hers.

She loved how he said her name

because there was always, always

something substantial in it.

She loved how he made her feel:

important, beautiful, wanted, desired... loved,

even though she'd have to remind him,

Did you read that poem I submitted?—

well, they were not broken or

falling apart requiring his handwork.

She thought she must drive him nuts,

at least once in a while;

she always wanted his handwork.