Everything had its place
on the grand prairie-

horse thieving,
land-grabbing,
bad whiskey,
range fires,
dust clouds,
low women,
lower men.

Everything
but the missing
buffalo
and the hungry
Crow.
The fierce eyes
of the hungry
Crow.

r ~ 6/29/14

all those words
left floating in the air                                                           im sorry
you can do nothing for them
the words that you say but no one hears
though you keep hoping                                         please forgive me
that someone might hear them
and ask you                                                   "what's wrong?"
so you can respond with everything
everything that's gone wrong
everything that's your fault
but no one asks
because no one hears
so there you are, stuck with the words
floating in air

Shiny black spit-shined shoes
on the walk
in the Memorial Gardens
hurt my feet
to look at their stiffness
and his swollen ankles
in them.
His worn and creased pants
too short, belt buckle aligned
dress-right-dress
with the button fold of his shirt.
He wore
an old faded USMC campaign hat
pulled down
almost to his white eyebrows.
Almost comically.
I pitied him
in the way we sometimes do
the old who mumble,
never knowing
just who they are talking to.
I heard Inchon mentioned,
and Chosin a time or two,
and every time he said Puller knew,
yeah, Chesty knew.
I quit taking my lunch
with a book in the Garden
when he stopped coming around
and after I saw his picture
in the obituaries
with a description of how he won
his Silver Star and two Purple Hearts;
wishing now I had listened closer.
More’s the pity
I never spoke to him.

r ~ 6/27/14

I love the smell of the strawberry hand soap
in my tile bathroom ringed orange
with iron stains
in the cheap sink
and shallow bathtub.
I love the way he smelled when he stood too close
in the dark
backstage.
I love the way the air smells
after heavy rain
and storms with lightning.
I love the way clean sheets smell.
I love the way lavender smells
I love the way bread baking smells.

I write so many love poems
sad poems
poems about him
the unnamed him
who's figure i crave like hard drugs.
The him who is leaving.
That ******* HIM.

This is not a poem about him
My life is not about him
I am resilient
independant
I don't need
him.

Maybe in a year...
he will come back to an unbroken me
who's feelings never took a hit.

But i don't need him
and i will survive.

Beloved Girl,
I need to be grateful for you.

I need to be grateful for all of the things you've done-
To make me feel better
To give me food and comfort
To tell me stories and answer my questions
To be there even when I didn't want you to be

I need to be grateful for you. And I need to apologize.

I need to apologize-
For when I snapped at you
For when I got my chair instead of getting your food
For when I became angry because they liked you too
Because I was afraid that they wouldn't like me anymore.

You are a star. A beautiful star that can drive me absolutely nuts because you just want us to see it.

But I do now.

I need to be grateful and I need to apologize
And I would like to thank you

Thank you for inspiring me.

Thank you for being a relentlessly good friend.

Thank you for sticking around until I found my gratitude.

She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.

ripples in the pond-
  fat toad on a skinny rock
  i wish he would croak

r 6/26/14