WANTED: A Missing Man

by Rochelle Cunningham
© August 2010


...is the notion of residing safely tucked beneath your wings – going to cost me mine? Do I have to give up the best of me, to rest my head upon your chest at night?


...if I start to follow in your footsteps, where will my tracks wind up? Does the ground around me have to turn to quicksand before you reach out your hand to me?


...can I fall to my knees without you casting your shadow upon me? Will you hold my hand, and remain still –and quiet – and perhaps stay lost for a bit, while I attempt to find my own way out?


...if I let you wander through my heart, will you get scared and decide to run back home? Can you open your eyes long enough to pull back the curtains of my memories and allow my love to shine in and fill our room?


...are the dishes and dirty laundry going to pile up quicker than the kisses and the laughter? Does the sound of my voice keep you spellbound – or do you find yourself running for cover?


...is forever just too damn long, when you're caught always asking so much more of me? And what happens to me, when I decide to – just – say – "No"?


...will you cast a handful of glass stones from your seat in the back of the theatre, when you've never been on stage before? Is it so hard to believe I don't have a problem with an early curtain call or a late night rehearsal?


I'll let you in on a little secret...


Sometimes –

when the credits are rolling –
as the last tears are being dried from the sad story and you hear an empty popcorn tub get kicked under a seat somewhere for someone else to clean up later –


...a woman can be found sitting alone, somewhere, there in the dark– realizing she has lost something –


...because she has spent the better half of her life –
losing pieces of herself –



missing a man.




~ Inspired by 3 Doors Down "Let me be myself"

Jealousy Of Night

by Rochelle Cunningham
© July 2010

There is a man out there…

…who conjures midnight reminders of my desire to possess him – still.
From the barren pillow sharing my bed, a warm phantom rises to wake me. Without a word, he takes my sleepy hand in his and leads me down another woman’s path.

There is a man out there…

…who refuses to abandon a dream that naps quietly on a dusty shelf in someone’s basement. He’s caught clawing at the blank pages of a bedside journal – unwilling to turn on the lamp. And his breath weighs heavy on the back of a sleeping poets mind.

There is a man out there…

…who assembles broken memories that crash on the shores of desperation. Wrestling with the rising tide he sails the course of a barely beating heart toward the horizon of a forbidden kiss. A swell in the stillness of the room uncovers a woman’s face and stirs the bedroom curtains as a reminder of troubled waters ahead.

There is a man out there…

…who lingers where he does not belong; unwilling to shake hands with the silence of night, he makes his escape on the tail-wind of dawn’s golden braid.

I wake to his lullaby humming a tune on my ceiling fan and arise hung-over from jealousy of night.