Mira, Mira in the chair...

Who's the most bored of all?? I have spent the morning cleaning around the house. Fun! This is just what I love to do on my days off. Now, I can sit in my chair and laze for a bit. Certainly, I don't mean to complain, but how can an admitted ADD clean freak like myself get hooked up with someone so slovenly and complacent? Nine years of this. Nine years. Seven years of marital chains complete with brooms and vacuums and mops and Swiffers. Are you getting it now?


winter storm warning

The sound of jets over head
quietly hum through the windows
while the winter evening settles in
on a day when treacherous weather
is supposed to settle in
and make travel a travesty
yet, only wind clips the walls
whistling and disrupting trash cans

Part of me wants you to be stuck in traffic
part of me wants you to find me asleep on the sofa
so that you will be forced to be domestic

Now helicopters circle
make the house rattle as I look out the window
and see a light powder blowing horizontally

I close my eyes and picture you stuck in traffic
in a ditch
driving further and further south from here

The phone sits inches away
ready to shock me into answering

Your voice does not console me anymore

Writer's Block=Pain in my ass

I haven't written in several days. I think I'm going to burst. There are ideas there, but not enough time to myself. I believe I'm going to just run off to some coffeehouse or something and let the Mr. fend for himself. Of course, this would only breed animosity and make him extremely pissed off. Such is life. I get tired of all of the crap. I need to be able to make a living off writing, in some facet or another. Oh hell.

And one for today, while the silence still remains

Have you ever felt like you don't get enough time to yourself? Hmm. I certainly feel this way today. As it turns out, I have a few extra moments here to myself before the heavy hand of domesticity smacks me in the face and sends me off to make dinner. *I had a poem here, but I've taken it down in the name of good practice, since it's getting published at the end of April! (see newest entry) *

Introduction

Hello. I'm Mira. I'll be posting my poems here as they unfurl from my hands and brain and innards. At this point, I don't think you need to know too much about me with the exception of what I reveal here in small doses. I feel like I have to sneak around a lot online. I don't like people looking over my shoulder when I write or when I am innocently checking e-mail. So yes, this whole blog very is a clandestine thing. No one who knows me knows that I am here, so if I choose to be controversial and/or revealing, no one is the wiser, that is, until they Google me and find this. Or not? What is truth, anyway? Here is one to leave you with.

Things left around an old house

A glass half filled with water
in the living room
another two rooms away
empty
scatterings of clothes on sofas
Me, with not enough time to do
anything but press my aching spine
into the back of an old office chair
and fantasize of being fucked
out the doldrums of lower class white poverty

The stench of your words in the air
the breath of your shoes left by doors
airing out their foul commentary

Every sight in here makes me sick
makes me want to put on comfortable shoes
and run