"Oh Lord Jesus," breathes the mother, as the old man tinkers away at her ice cream truck.
And her sons play in the yard, unaware their breakfast hangs in arms of the old man.
I whisper my own plead, observing from my porch,
"Oh Lord Jesus."
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
And when the ink of the night
Locks your eyes shut,
Remember the light
For you are not done.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
All the hungry eyes
Are pulled to the center set, roaring fire.
She seers excitement and anticipation
Onto cold skin.
But the outlying glow
Of the saucer eyed, girl
Scaling the rim of each room
Can also spread warmth
Wich may even reach your bones.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
They call a certain part of the night,
When the darkest ink lays before dawn,
The Witching Hour.
And in every corner of this room,
I hear echoes of my whispers to you.
Phantom limbs intertwine,
As if it were November
And like clockwork,
You'd hush my words
With sad lips
Knowing I'd be left here in June.
And when I feel the weight of your chest
Heaving with lavender,
Just know I'm still strong
In this Bewitching Hour.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 3:32 AM UTC
There was a drought in our home
All were left dry to the bone
Rather than taking careful measures
You carried me up the mountain
To drown me in the sea of trees
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
Read me O'Hara
As we sit on the Seine
And I'll swirl my toes in perfect circles
While I watch your shoulders rise and fall.
You'll stop for a cigarette
And I'll beam, remembering the poem
I wrote solely dedicated to the laugh you
Make while you smoke.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
Can you see the water dripping from your mother's mouth?
It's been giving you life since before your father ever took a sip.
And at times, it scorches the prints right off your fingertips but you still have the same blood.
This same blood, which mixes with the water dripping from your own mouth, turns to wine as your lover grazes each corner of the lips that always turn down.
And as they purse into the softest circle, you remember the way your mother smiled with her mouth, full.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
May each mouth
That has touched yours
Lead you to mine.
For they have taught you
The art of slow.
The eager lips of young love
Pale compared to
Those seasoned enough
To savor each movement
As if it were their last meal.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
Tiny, little friends
Share tiny little secrets
As the symphony of laughter
And squeaking swings
Stuff the afternoon.
Tiny, little waves "Goodbye!"
Through tinted chariots
Whisking them home for the weekend.
And in twenty years
When the weather is irresistible,
They'll take their own tiny ones
For a walk.
When they stroll by the playground
And hear that symphony of laughter
They'll remember tiny, little Sarah
And her tiny, little secrets
Wondering how her littles wave "Goodbye!"
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
It was winter of 2014
And you dyed your hair navy,
On accident of course.
But you liked it.
And you lived for the nights
Of turning around the lake
As the moss dropped
From the tangles of your hair.
And the moon shone
In the haziness of your eyes
While you played back scenes
Through the screens of your eyelashes.
There was a groaning which lived
In the cavity behind your lungs
And sometimes it would stretch so far
The cracking of your ribs
Would fill the deepest silence.
And one morning,
He stretched to stroke the length of your cheek
But the weight of that look
Shook you back.
I'll never forget.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC