I hope on your last day
you heard your favorite song
thought of something that brought you joy
remembered a time you laughed so hard
you cried
I hope you knew how much my father cared for you
(it was very, very much)
And I thank you for the friendship you provided him.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
I hid behind long locks of dark hair back then.
And sang of places I would not visit for another three to five years.
Some places had real names but were fiction in my brain.
I gave myself an alias among others' real names.
Why was I so secretive?
"You are young," they'd tell me.
I didn't want to hear that.
The room was a relief from the Ohio cold in mid-January,
that was always when the air was the most brutal.
The community we built was short-lived but lovely
it was where I tucked myself away for the winter
before climbing out on my two hands
and not ever thinking to look back.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
i have memories of you and i
i was still young, and you younger
you were taller in height with long legs
i had to look upward to look you in the eye
and still, i called you my little sister
we'd sit on your porch
you'd read me poems by leonard cohen, i think
i'd pull at the grass with my hands while i listened
and i'd show you music i wrote under a pseudonym
i miss you often, little sister
i hope you still read leonard cohen
and think of me
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
i try to keep my balance
my leg muscles are tensed to assist
and i sit in the center of the ship
the livid waves pulled by the moon rock me
it is difficult to sit upright without falling over
afraid to stand, i hope the movement ends soon
the ship is still at the center of the sea
and i still at the center of the ship
it is agonizing not knowing when the waves will end
but i will wait until the sea is calm again
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
what silly little girls we were
we put holes in our faces
and prisms in our hair strands
we followed boys with guitars on rocks near the river
we had guitars, too, and we knew we were good
we wanted to show them we were good
you could sing better than me
but i was the writer
that's why we were moon sisters
we were bound to find each other sooner or later
you had lively feet and i was the shy one
my eyes comfortably focused on the ground
but you'd tilt my chin upward
and i'd finally see all the beauty i'd been missing
i remember it well, when you took my hand
and whisked me away to the fantasy land of imsoniacs
they sipped coffee all night long in that oyster shell of a cave
you kept me awake till five am
then i'd tuck away into my warm bed to finally greet dreams
what silly little girls we were
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
in a woven wooden walking distance
tucked between the world i originally dipped my toes in
i am welcomed back by the dancers that tower over the earth
(we call them mountains, sometimes)
i am five years aged since that tiny human first arrived here
they haven't forgotten me, though
it's as if i never roamed too far away
here i am
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
It is February again.
It was February years ago that I hid.
I hid and I climbed out again in the spring.
We wrote songs. We shared songs.
You weren't a ghost then
and I didn't know at the time you would become one.
I tied my hair back to tune my guitar
and you said you liked how my neck looked exposed.
You are a ghost now, and it is February again.
But thank you for the songs I wrote when it was February then.
They are still favorites of mine.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
sitting with a friend of a friend
desperate to yank at the seams of conversation
when it is quiet, we pretend to sip
we pull our eyes to the images of commentators on the screen
look out the window
think of something else to say so we can feel comfortable
my resume with people is malnourished
i am people, and i still don't understand them
the friend we share returns to the table
we invite her back
the ashes of discomfort are scattered
it is put to rest
a regulated heartbeat returns
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
I'd never watched a human grow before
I held you before you developed your sea legs
as you saw the Blue Ridge Mountains
and I told you we'd revisit when you learned to walk
I will never forget the first day you said my name
Then one day you spoke a full sentence
You could run
You learned to count and sing
You no longer were that tiny cloud anymore
I feared you'd outgrow the little things
Until one night recently
You crawled into my lap
and slumbered so sweetly
and I realized you were not growing too quickly
You still were such a little boy
for a little while longer
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
To lie in bed together
to feel the slight tremors in the sheets on my side
that are coming from your laughter
I don't think I could love anything else
I don't think anything else matters
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC