Worry Beads

And sometimes I wish

that it was of my own doing,

the moving from beyond the scorch

of the harsh California sun.

I wish it was not you

who reminded me of gentleness,

of warm hands and the cold nip

of New England’s soothing kiss.

If it had been all of my own,

I could cut the cords of my emotion

stringing me back in

(hook, line, and sinker...)

to a bubble of “but”s and “what if”s

and “if only”s.

And sometimes I wish

I never opened myself with the force of the blizzard

that brought our passionate energies to combination.

Never allowed myself to feel the calm in your voice

and allow my thoughts, my dreams, and all of my insides

to come tumbling out with the roaring snow.

I still had the nerves to catch myself,

and keep me close to chest

wrapped in caution tape

in perseveration’s last attempt.

And sometimes I wish

I had been more careful with myself,

instead of flinging Pandora’s box wide open

that night in your car.

That night that kissed oblivion and abyss at once.

That night that painted us in black and white silver screen dreams.

That night I came into you

spilling and pouring and emptying.

They say it is better

to box beautiful memories as a reminder

of the love you once had

and the laughter you once projected

and the feelings you once reveled in.

But sometimes I wish

I kept everything to all of me.

Kept all of me to all of me

to begin with.