Quill #74 - Solipsism, Or Reverse? (2010)

When my husband sleeps
His body drifts away.
I can turn over in bed
And pound the mattress on his side.
I strike nothing.
I can stand and look for him,
Even moving the covers,
And he doesn't exist.
When his work calls for him,
Because he hasn't yet arrived there,
I can honestly say he must have
Already left because
He is not in bed.
But the moment I call his name,
He wakes, reappears, and answers,
From the very spot I was hitting,
Under the covers I moved to seek him.
And he's frustrated now
Because he must hurry,
Speed everything up,
Or the boss will not believe us again,
The next time he disappears.

Quill #45 - Fashions (2010)

I tried to help a young girl today.
She was sad and I tried to cheer her.
I didn't know that she wanted to cry,
Rail against fate, and throw her anger
Like shoes aimed toward minds.
My words inflamed her to greater sorrow,
Which befuddled me, confused.
I don't remember choosing emotions
As a monthly runway statement,
A daily garment of ennui.
Dramatic clothing, yes,
Not a cloak of drama,
Reactions but not confabulations.
I left her alone rather than argue.
That made her happier than I had.
She couldn't wait to complain how she was lonely.