Let’s keep having coffee shop conversations.
Let’s not rush or move too fast.
Let’s stay right here—in this moment,
Having coffee shop conversations.
…
Stay with me.

The lobby is never completely silent,
Day and night there are people passing through.
Young couples sit together on couches,
Friend groups laugh and enjoy their time together,
Some people sit alone and work with open laptops,
And someone is always playing peaceful melodies on the black and white keys of the grand piano.

The doors of the restaurant squeak open.
Behind the host counter I watch people pour in.

Tired parents with a screaming baby,
An awkward couple on a first date,
Two U.S. marines in full uniform,
An angry mom and her family of five,
A couple accompanied by a service dog,
An older man who asks for a table for one,
A woman who tells me I remind her of her daughter,
A college girl who waits for her friends for an hour,
A family who stay on their phones while they eat,
A food delivery man who is in a rush,
A drunken man who asks to sit in the bar,
Three old women who seat themselves,
Six girls who ask me to take a photo of them,
A woman wearing nurse scrubs,
A little girl who asks for an extra coloring page,
And a family of twenty.

I’m just a poet with a part time job.

Lavender bubbles that float in lavender baths.
Lavender bubbles that slither and writhe in lavender water.
Lavender bubbles that wrap their tails around lavender limbs.
Lavender bubbles that pull you under lavender waves.
Lavender bubbles that sink in their lavender fangs.
Lavender bubbles that fill your lungs with lavender venom.

…
Lavender bubbles that deceive in lavender ways.

There is a hint of warmth back in the air,
And the mourning doves are back to mourn me,
Cooing their familiar song
Because every spring they return
They no longer recognize me.
The gray-feathered birds eat seeds in the yard
And perch on rooftops and tree branches
To cry out in sorrow.
They cry because another version of me is dead.

Osiris, give new life to what we once thought was dead.
The death and rebirth of a year,
A triquetra,
An unbreakable cycle.

Osiris, resurrect the old year.
Like the notorious lotus flower
As it rises out of the dark waters at the start of each day.
Like the yellow daffodils that bloom in the spring.
Winter is over.

Osiris, restore the old year.
Improve and develop it.
Annually it waits for the next samsara
Like the sunflower,
As it longingly reaches towards the light.

Osiris, revive the old year.
Make it fresh and new
Like the white rose,
For it represents new beginnings.
Peace has returned.

My roommate came back late again
not to sleep,
rather to grab a change of clothes and some money
before heading back into the night.
At first I am annoyed,
but in her absence
she leaves behind a peaceful silence,
and I’ve never felt so grateful
to drift back to sleep
with the sound of rain pattering on my window
instead of pushing though a drunken crowd
at a raging frat party or crowded nightclub.
Sometimes I feel different,
but this time I think that’s okay.

Love is not carrying a ****** in your wallet.
“Just in case.”
Love is not deceiving her to get your way.
“I promise”
Love is not convincing her to break a boundary.
“It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“We’re going to get married anyways.”
“Why not? Don’t you love me?”

Yes. I loved you,
but your “love” ruined me.