Choosing to Become

As a teenage boy, I didn’t realize
The degree to which some girls, every day,
Turn themselves into works of art.

I only ever saw
The finished product, and I
Assumed girls looked the way they did
Having expended as little effort as I had.

(My sister was much older, and
Taught me nothing useful about girls.)

My father, however, did tell me,
By the time I was in college, that
It was possible, even if I was buying a date dinner,
That she had spent more on the evening than I had.

My father was, among many other things,
An artist, a painter –
He loved beauty, and
Understood it in ways I have yet to.

The creation of self is
An activity we all indulge in, every day;
Some of us more consciously than others.

Now, when I turn to look at you
On a day like this,
Your beauty is all the more striking,
Because I know it consists both
Of who you are
And you are choosing to become.

And it is miraculous
To me


she sees handwriting everywhere –
in waves, in clouds, in bits of shells —
the signature that guides her hope,
the miracle in parallels –

for “Mirielle” means “Miracle”,
and such she is, to me —
where laughs the ocean as it breathes,
the signatory sea

she sees lace curtains everywhere –
in mist and spray and bits of foam —
the curtain sheer that covers dreams,
and points her to our home –

for though the sound of clicking keys
is in my ears, instead of waves —
i feel the curtains lightly now,
that hang outside these mortal caves

and there, with Mirielle, i know
a universe beyond all size,
and see handwriting everywhere
as though now through
her eyes

Mutually Assured Striving

When we were first expecting, it was
All so strange and weird;
I couldn’t even count the many
Things we hoped, or feared –

And we were still so young, but yet
We did the best we could –
With so much raw emotion, and
So little understood.

The years go by, and knowledge fails,
Or takes on whole new shapes:
And bitterness becomes the norm,
The taste of sour grapes –

But as back then, so we are now.
New life will soon take birth —
And we have much to learn, and far
To travel on this earth.

To you – the girl, the woman, and
To me – the boy, the man —
To know there’s much we will not know,
But still, to always strive
To understand

Sweet Mirielle

The signs you read are in the air,

And so you worry, endlessly:

But here, there is no enmity

Enveloped in the love we share


The joy in which we both take part

Can soothe our souls amidst the strife;

So know – you are my warmth and life,

Sweet Mirielle, my love, my heart