Berkeley is soft
at night
shaded blues
with spots of warm
lamplight
instead of just dark.
Traffic slows
for foot travellers
the buzz of skateboard
on concrete
the whirr of bicycle
pedals on cruise.
Car doors slam
the rustle of brown grocery
sacks, the uneven
padding of toddler feet
up wooden porch steps.
Berkeley is soft..
Walking
in the thick
quiet night
I bring you with me.
Each stoop is our own,
every special stained
glass window we have
chosen together.
We shop at this
gourmet grocery store
and we tuck our children
under down comforters.
I want to chop bright
vegetables with you,
Clean sharp knives on
pale blond wood.
I could tend to my garden
after work
while you sit on the back
deck, stumming idly
through tunes.
Write a song for me, no,
write our song
play it for me, too shy
to sing
and I'll make up the
rest, weave words, tell
our story in a clear voice.
And as the last chords
die away
I'll pull your body close
and kiss with quiet lips
to soothe your
still fingers.
Heather Shaw
July 6, 1998
Heather Shaw
April 26, 1998
Heather Shaw
12:49pm
April 13, 1998
12:00am
March 25, 1998
Heather Shaw
My prince, he lies with his hands behind his head, staring at the slope of the attic ceiling above my bed. His melancholy is that which has plagued privileged princes for centuries: affluent idleness. He is not lazy; too soon he will rise, removing his warmth, and begin his daily morning routine. This particular morning I only gaze at his finely chiseled form for a moment before he whisks on my robe and heads downstairs for his coffee.
He returns to drink it beside me, but I know he will leave soon. Other mornings I may sit and watch his daily exercises that he performs in the nude. The first time I saw them I blushed, and even now I don't like to look too intently. Intensely. Most everything about him is intense, simmering on the edge of some greater purpose he serves with his need for order.
He doesn't believe my empathy. I too recently fell into small resentments over his lot in life as compared to mine. But I know the keen for greater meaning; I know, too, how empty days suck themselves away. More than one summer I have spent in idle. But what to do His reaction to my attempts at pragmatism is one of childish nobility. The perfect pout of the well-to-do. My body, curled around his, offers soft warmth and an all-too-brief reprise. Or perhaps it is a safe spot to suffer over these troubles. Either way, my body is temporary for him.
What did our ancient princes do? I only know stories, stereotypes really. My prince has rescued not one, but two ladies of quality. He has gone off to school and he has gone off to school and he has found himself in foreign lands. Slaying mythical beasts is no good; he's far too skeptical to even recognize a dragon, should one cross his path. What is there for a modern prince?
March 12, 1998
Heather Shaw
I stretched my body
beside yours
I was still high
glow rising from my pale
flesh
(I always feel my body is softer
after you come with me)
breathing heavy
leaving me light-
headed
I could do little
but gaze up at the skylight
into the cloud-full night
(the sky is so seldom clear
here).
When I finally floated down
and felt my body pressing against
my too-cushiony bed,
Full of regret,
because you were now asleep,
and I only then fitted
the quiet line of my cooling
body
along yours.
Feburary 24, 1998
Heather Shaw
Darling,
I wish I could say I slept well and I feel much better about everything in this morning light.
Unfortunately, that's not so.
It's still eating me, nagging and gnawing away. See, I'd already been wondering on Sunday how in the hell I was going to deal with her while I was in love with you. It changes things for me, and I guess not really for the better. Rrraaahhh.
Darling, I'm too involved to run screaming from you. My heart is quivering, licking its wounds, but I can't leave this, I can't leave you. I love you, my sweetest, I do. I think of something simple like touching your face or the way your lips tease mine while we're kissing and I just melt. Oh, god, I'm in love with you and there's nothing else to do about it. Tonight, I'll kiss that softsoft skin in the V between your nose and eye, relishing the brush of your lash across my cheek, and I'll shake with love for you. My mouth waters and I taste your sweetness just thinking about you like this.
Darling, darling, I want everything to be good, everything ok. I don't know what's going to happen, I don't know, what do I do? You melt me.
Love,
Heather
Feburary 17, 1998