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 Dec 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
Does it mean anything
that the trees still had most
of their leaves when she arrived—
we spent the day tangled
watching them fall—
I introduced her to the larks, the wren,
the ever-busy squirrels.

And does it mean anything
that the next morning nearly
all the leaves were gone,
that I and the squirrels both
took a bit longer to wake,
to leave the warmth of our beds.

I wonder what it was that they were missing.
 Nov 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
Wrote your name on another bridge today,
the second one since I left a month ago.
In another world, maybe,
I keep doing this until I die.
In another world, perhaps,
you do the same with mine.
grief hurts too much
 Nov 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
when winter comes and you're not here to warm me
I'll go find the patient
and gracious sun, waiting,
like always, to kiss the parts of me,
hands,
eyelids,
forehead,
that miss you most
I think I am happy but god I can't breathe a lot of the time
 Oct 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
I wonder how no one else stops to look
at the perfect, untouchable vertebrae of the clouds,
the illuminated flies and gnats and mosquitos
hovering like snow above the grass.

How no one cares to talk about october breezes
between their toes, in the curve of their ears.

How no one hears how earnestly the squirrels
run across cool pavement and up oak trees
where they'll spend the next four, maybe five months.

I hope I'm not the only one
who notices these little magics.
people on campus are in such a rush
 Oct 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
I spend five minutes trying to catch
a mosquito between my palms
I forget all about my book,
about whatever I'm writing,
just to avoid a bite
as if a bite would be too much to handle
as if I didn't already wake up
without you this morning
I wish she'd knock on my window again
 Oct 2019 Poetria
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Home
 Oct 2019 Poetria
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I believe Home moves on;
without you, if it must.
And you find that when you try to return Home,
Home has changed,
Or it has grown.
Or it has moved out,
just like you did.
 Oct 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
I killed the spider living in my bathroom this morning. I’d left it alone in the corner for days while it ate stinkbugs it caught in its web—it’s October, 90 degrees, and my home has become refuge for anything hiding from the heat.
I was in the shower when I saw it out of the corner of my eye, sleeping I think, in a fresh web stretching from right beneath the shower head to the opposite corner. I was going to leave it there, squishing myself against the far side of the shower, the tile wall freezing cold against my back. It was just a spider.
But then it was an awake spider stretching its tapered, spindly legs. The spider looked at me and I looked at it. It must have interpreted this as an invitation and not a warning because it moved towards me across the invisible bridge it has spent all night building.
I immediately cupped water in my hands and threw it, drenching the web while the spider fell further and further down the yellow tile with each handful of hot water until it reached the tub floor and circled the drain like a cyclone before it disappeared.
A new spider moved in this afternoon, bigger than the previous tenant. It’s fixed itself back in the corner near the door and I think I’ll let it stay there until late autumn when the stinkbugs leave.
piece of prose I don't hate
 Jun 2019 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
it has been two weeks and
the fantasies are starting
the daydreams where you show up
in the middle of the night hands and breath
shaking
clothes anxious to take their place
on the floor in the corner
where we are no longer lovers
in name or shape
we are sea and mountain we are
paint mixing spilling
into and out of each other
the daydreams where we stay
laced and woven
beneath your grey blanket
until the doves start whispering about us
sometime around seven in the morning
idk if I like this but who cares at this point
 Jun 2019 Poetria
b e mccomb
january

whispering to myself
it’s okay
it’s okay
it’s. okay.
relax relax
RELAX

the anxious loop
in my brain now
redirected into
more ****** activities

recreation
with hands and lips
and my heart hammering
in my chest

getting home late
and having to get up
early isn’t the worst part
the worst part
is the guilt that tries to
block my airways

february

the freezer is two inches
further back than the fridge
you’ve moved it over time by
slamming me against it
one hand on my waist
one around my throat

a couple whispered
words and a few
fingers in my hair and
i’m a complete mess

car windows coated in
frozen fog
your belt on the dash
coats in the back seat
my clothes in muddy melted
snow on the floorboards

my elbows pressed
against the roof
the worst of my
insecurities
forgotten for what
you found behind them

march

i’ll bury my face in your
coffee scented hoodie
and let you make me melt
over
and over
and over again

something else
has learned to drown
out the spinning circles
of cognitive catastrophes

april

the lights are out
the doors are locked
and like something out
of my darkest wishes

you’ve got me on top
of the cooler chest
and for the first time i don’t
pretend i want you to stop

and time only exists
for the traffic outside
and the big clock
that never runs to speed

“what do you want?”
i ask when you
come up for air
“more of you”
and your fingers
just keep working

the hardest part is
allowing myself to trust
to give myself permission
to be a human
with a human
body and human
emotions and
a human companion

the rest of the year
hasn’t come yet
and i don’t know
what it holds

but spring is coming
warmth after the
cold and wind
and i have to believe
in the good feeling
growing in me

have to believe that
i’m good enough
for the love you
want to give me
copyright 4/23/19 by b. e. mccomb
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