since i was small,
i wanted to live forever.
every dawn is a hit of reality
and i’m eager for another.
and another.
and another.
i exhale, my cool breath hitting the air -
flavored with desperation;
is it so wrong to want more?
i wilt, only slightly, thinking about the end.
when i slouch in my chair,
i feel my heart shift closer to the soil at my feet
and i do not sink in the midst
of the flood -
i do not lose myself in the rainwater
pooling at my ankles -
i do not clench my eyes shut,
fearing where i will go
when i do
i need this more than you,
i swear.
and when i feel the back of the chair
digging into my spine
or the quiet, creeping ache of age
tugging on strands of my hair,
i resist; i deny it
the adrenaline of dawn’s kiss
is my defense against the rot,
but the night reminds me
of being small with skinned knees and a medicated wish.
i surrender, subject to the infestation of memory -
yet, my oldest prayer continues to echo
in every inch of this room:
sempervirens, sempervirens
(always green, always green)
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you
i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)
you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice
you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach
you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is
quiet. peaceful.
will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?
i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
the jersey breeze
cultivates her curls,
as they bounce in the crisp air.
she’s the reason you can’t sleep at night.
the day breaks
into song when you meet her gaze;
she hums along, her voice
soft - like red velvet.
against the green
wallpaper in her room
she looks so beautiful
you wonder if she can sleep at night.
the night falls, and
in your rest she grows a foot taller,
becoming wise, like the book of poetry
you leave by your nightstand.
her friends know
that is she the one
who spreads herself thin to block the sun when it’s too hot.
she sleeps without closing her eyes.
her moments blend into the next ones:
she is so refreshing - even when she is thirsty;
and the acorns fall from her pockets;
and the deer come running;
and we all sleep soundly.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
she has so much to tell the world,
and she does so through song.
an early riser, she wakes for her tune,
she waits for her moment, and begins.
if you were to ask her friends, in their delight,
what they think of their friend the robin,
they would tell you
that she’s never speechless when the sun is up.
they would tell you
that her passion overflows like a new england river in april.
they would tell you
that she’s hurting, but they don’t know why.
if you were to ask her, in her sorrow,
what she makes of herself,
she would tell you
that she refuses to be expendable
she always shares what she is thinking.
she would tell you
that the river is much too low -
pray for rainfall, she suggests.
she would tell you
that her pain is nothing but genuine. nothing but love.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
the stage is set;
the day is still;
the grass is fresh,
coated lightly by the drops of dew.
the curtain hides the scene from all,
until the right hour is among us;
soon, it is pulled back by the sight of Earth’s lover.
the days are as long as we think they are,
for as long as we can count
we will assume the answers, and stop looking for them
in the rings of trees.
but still, we will confront the rings of trees
as we make the cut – so clean –
and later, when the show has ended,
the stage has been swept,
you return to your house,
and you slip into your bed,
you will think of the shapes of the trees in the darkness
but they will no longer stand.
and the shadow is not yours
but it will follow you, all the days of your life.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
in the darkness, i wish i could be somewhere else.
for now, however, i put the pen down as the music begins. i lay here. gone
the weight of the night falls on my shoulders, and i
curl up, and embrace myself, as if i am holding myself together
afraid i might get up and go away
and suddenly i am standing
lost in a symphony of nostalgia about that final line, a standing
i am not pleased with. but, what else?
at night, my doubt whisks me away
and i am gone
into the air; rhythmically, i think of when we were together
you and i
and now, just i.
standing
with my arms to my sides and my hands clasped together
knowing that you are with someone new. someone else
where have i gone?
i tuck myself in bed, resting with every reason why you went away.
and i wish i could be away,
too. it’s somewhere i
wish we could’ve gone
together. we dreamt of standing
still at the hearts of forests, of deserts, of everywhere else
(together
(was my favorite place to be, but i don’t know what that means anymore: together.)
it trembles off my tongue, my mouth desperately sending it away
to haunt someone else
so it does, it departs. yet i can feel the weight of the loss, and i
am no longer standing.
i lay back down. i put the pen down, not knowing that i picked it up. i am gone
gone, but never forgotten; forgotten, but never gone
what breaks me is the distance that keeps us from being together
and, then, a melodic voice (my own): “why are you standing?”
is it because your breath has been taken away?
i
have nothing but these words. I KNOW NOTHING ELSE
LIKE POETRY KNEW ME. now gone, the darkness won’t stay away.
we are frozen in time, together, and i
am standing. again. i go somewhere else.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
the water’s edge:
i find my peace.
for here, i pledge
will i release.
the way i walk
speaks odes to me;
for when i talk,
i trudge my feet.
my voice, a ghost;
my heart, a race;
i guard my post
and hide my face.
but at the sea,
i slow my mind.
i wish, for me,
i could be kind.
taboo, is this -
pain spews within
(society’s bliss
a secret sin)
so in Her light,
i dream of peace -
for here, i might
find a release.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
the white lace dress hugs Her slender body
on this special day. welcome, all guests, to
this morning’s ceremony. we are so
thrilled you could join us. we are here today
to celebrate you. your contributions,
your impact. your footprint. do you know that
you are here to proclaim your affection
and commitment to Her? are you willing
to confess your love and protection to
Her? your hands begin to tremble, like when She
strikes the ground. you scoff, “yuck, *** not
knowing the truth. She woke in the hum of
june, broke a sweat, but felt a haunting chill
swim down Her spine, a crashing - a total
consumption of life. in the morning light,
can you see it? can you see the shape of
Her belly? can you see the shape of Her
pain, as she clings to Her life, scared, so scared.
holding Her stomach, cursing the wind on
a windless day. you will commit to a
lifetime of puffy eyes, fevers, meltdowns;
waking in a sweat, (but not your own) you
will hold Her hair as she coughs up the
most apologetic garden of words;
you will rub Her back as She weeps, calling
out, asking why bad things happen to good
people. no. She is so much more than you
or i. She has constant evergreen love –
“never dies” they will say, until they find
themselves digging Her grave. Everyone’s grave.
will we pile in together, like a
landfill? we’re wasteful, weren’t these things made
for waste? isn’t that what we are? a waste?
she exhales, and quickly whispers, “no”
She wipes Her eyes. She clears Her throat to share
how happy She is to have you. happy.
“do you take them to be yours, forever?”
(forever: until i die. until i
die for them.)
confidently, Her: “i do.”
“do you take Her to be yours, forever?”
(forever: until you **** Her. until
you **** Her. aware of your impact, your
footprint, you know what happens.)
You: “i do.”
“you may now kiss the bride!” – as the sun shines,
you close your eyes and lean in, and then you
wake up. break a sweat in the bitter cold
of december. this is quite far from a
celebration. it’s a nightmare, and your
hands tremble. uncontrollably. but this,
Her wellbeing, Her safety, Her life, this
you can control. what made you believe you
couldn’t? celebrate Her. apologize.
hug Her like the white dress. sincerely.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
waltzing into life
the bee is
one of many.
their heart yearns
for sweet nectar,
or maybe love,
or just time.
but honestly, it’s
a short life
and the days
stretch as thin
as the webs
that hide in
the smallest corners.
is it so much
to ask for
a little more
time?
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
i shift
farther from freedom
when fueled by these flames.
i laugh
frightened by the fiction
that is a fabrication
of my favorite friday afternoon.
i grin
but it falters; it fades -
faster than my fears
on a quiet morning.
i freeze
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC