We are on a plane. We are on a plane and flying fast enough to cross the world in days. We are crossing the world in small increments. Every minute is one hour closer to home. Every minute is one hour, and every 24 hours is 365 days.

What difference does one year make?  One year later, I am wearing new clothes. One year later, I am singing fresh songs. I am in the air with nothing but white clouds and blue skies ahead.

Ride a bike without training wheels in an empty parking lot until found.
Eat lunch without deodorant in a sweaty cafeteria until nauseous.
Go to prom without a date in a one stop-sign town until dawn.

Walk to class without pants at a small liberal arts college until famous.
Play guitar without calluses at an ex-partner’s house until fingers throbbing.
Hike a trail without a stick on a one-day trip until sore.

Write a poem no meaning in a 4 x 4 apartment until lost.
Throw someone else’s toothbrush in the trash in a studio until crying.
Delete numbers without reason in a frenzy until numb.
Walk down the aisle without a father in a rustic barn wedding until the groom is smiling.

When we were younger, we
would meet every chance
we had. Each meeting
another break
from school and chores and
growing up.

Now, we are older. And
meeting you feels like
an assignment, a chore,
a side effect of growing up. It's a
band-aid hiding how nowadays,
we are never not apart.

///

Each headline
is harder to swallow. Each text
another punch in the gut. Each day
another attempt to save
what was mine by pushing it
away. Each decision
another crumpling of an
empty page. I only hope
when the creases are smoothed
there will be something left to
write on.

///

Man's best friend lives
10 to 20 years, and why not more?
Why can't furry tails wag
forever, if only because
I want them to.
Heavenly Father, if Methuselah had
1000 years, why not my best friend 30?
Why not, why not, why not? Why not
let his damp snout and curious eyes
see just another day?

I think God
spent extra time on you
and the way you look at me
makes me feel like
that applies to me too

how many paces have I taken towards
and past and beyond and further from
that beautiful, domed building
not even thinking that one day
I will look at it for the last time
wondering when there will be a next

oh expired chicken
you never tasted right
to begin with
shredded and unseasoned
marred by hints of skin
and cartilage
you were too embarrassing to share
and too expensive to discard

oh expired chicken
the aftermath of underestimating how much
is in each pound
and overestimating how much I eat
a shopping mistake made
after being a parasite to school cafeterias
and my mother's cooking
for eight months

oh expired chicken
throwing you away was harder
than cutting off an ex-lover
my heart yearns for what you could have been
(tasty food in my stomach)
even though you were never enough
you would make an indomitable enemy
an atrocious friend
and the worst boyfriend ever
we would have a toxic and trying relationship
but that is for another poem

you are powerful
crossing oceans before coming back
breaking stereotypes
eating spice - sometimes

making cinema through dreams
and prose by hand
pulling forgiveness from fire
and closure from shreds

you are careless with objects
but not with anything that breathes and knows it
you need layers to protect your body
but not your heart

you are a lamp
not a welcome mat
and this knowledge burns doubters
like a flame