duress

like coal
compressed
he would not break
but made a diamond
under duress
and like a diamond
complicated yet clear
though clearly flawed too
he was cut
in the shape of his time
reflecting back to some
to some he'd shine
bright as a star
however you saw him
we shall see his like
no more

buttonhole

you don't even see
the misogyny
as you buttonhole me
as you mansplain the thing
that I said first
but you dismissed
because?
my purse?
my pursed lips?
my lipsticks?
you say you'd say the same
regardless of my gender or name
but i see you interact
with respect and tact
with those who have
not a purse but a sack

taciturn

do I want a Darcy?

taciturn and aloof

rarely showing proof

of affection through

his layered affectation,

always sending my thoughts

in the wrong direction,

but beneath it all -

the soul of discretion

and of temperament fine

once the line of acquaintance

is crossed? Am I Lizzie

or am I lost in another book?

am I an Emma by a Knightly forsook?

am I a Dashwood? a Morland? an Elliot?

am I a Fanny; timid, insipid, and delicate?

or am I Isabella? or worse, am I a Lydia

who's destined for penury, censure, chlamydia? 

am I too rash or too rude or too guilty

to score for myself a man like a Tilney?

Or perhaps I should stop

to ask what it's costing -

judging all men (and myself)

by the standards of Austen.

lodestar

when the fog sets in
when the stars are dim
still I find my way
from my lodestar shining
with sextant and compass
I rechart my course by you
you've yet to steer me wrong

rubric

he performed
a million little actions
all of which would fall
under the rubric of love
but never said the words
a broker heart
she died thereof
than that she might
she didn't know for sure
if he loved or
if she just inferred

puissant

the darkened street
at once puissant
and persuasive
nostalgia pervasive
as kisses remembered
after absence destructive
friendship constructed
from romance deducted
forgiveness belated
as streetlight flickers
like a flame deflated

jaunty

my heart will fall again 

I know

for a crooked smile

under a jaunty hat

a cardigan cloaked

arm will reach to me

and the dissipation of 

my dissolution will

drop like the leaves

and in seasons turn

so will I too