I took a week off last cycle. It felt so decadent! Another poem about relationships, the gritty parts! 


My friend shows me her boa who is molting.
First the snakes’s eyes glaze over, thick like cataracts,
she stops eating, and moves slowly.
It can take three weeks, during which
she shies away from
the heat light, prefers cool shadow.

I am trying to find such
in the passenger seat of a Subaru
when somehow a discussion of
the smelliness of my car
initiated by my long distance relationship partner
morphs into me lamenting
I am not with someone in my hometown.
I am feeling deathly alone, all the while I am with him.
I am pushing him 900 miles away instead of 90.

The carnage reminded me of when once
a semi truck pulled up next to me at an intersection.
I knew the driver was too close and couldn't see me.
I predicted scraping metal
but could do nothing to stop it.

Hearts can break quickly
and they can suffocate
when robbed of clarity and compassion.
It takes about five minutes.
A few freeway exits hurtling toward Seattle,
two pop songs.
Afterwards I wondered why,
why did I drag my beau into my inky lair
when this morning he had
made my coffee just how I like it,
kissed me sweetly all over,
and just yesterday to a girlfriend,
I bragged I liked my independence.

Stasis is advised in recovery circles,
for at least six months after big changes.
Stopped drinking? Don’t quit your job.
Spouse admitted infidelity? 
Not the time to move to a new town.

I have been rehabilitating my whole life,
from exactly what I have never been sure.
Humanness, tender heartedness.
I need to install a snake’s operating system.
When vulnerable, shut up,
no sudden movements,
no lashing, no striking.
Slow the fuck down.