Her
words throw me down hard onto the wrestling mat.
I
am mean to her because I know she can take it and also because it’s easier to
show her I care by expressing disdain instead of affection.
Beth’s
poetry catches me off guard with the Miranda rights way it gets to the truth by
withholding nothing, so help me God.
Neither
one of us is interested in physical contact because we learned a long time ago
those who really love you will leave and those you cannot stand oftentimes will
stand the test of time and then some.
I
wish I could have eaten a western omelet with Einstein and discussed just about
anything with Stephen Hawking.
Knighthoods
are a dime a dozen in these days of plant based chicken in a bucket and
vegetables that don’t believe in the letter of the law.
Watching
a friend’s poetry blossom does my heart good as Wilford Brimley starts to again
pop up in movies even though he hasn’t made a film since Timber the Treasure Dog. Honestly, I thought he was dead.
Let’s
get something straight your itching reminds me just fallible we are as we
breathe in carbon dioxide while trying to distance ourselves from our convoy-carbon-footprints.
Her
words no longer kept hidden under a bushel as her Lite-Brite consciousness shows
us whose boss in these glass-shattered-ceiling nights and days.
Eating
Chinese food with her and Evie is a great excavation into everything that’s
possible once you stop punishing yourself for someone else’s sins.
Beth’s
poetry is the green light that’s necessary to start us all moving.
Charles Cicirella
2/19/20 
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