I was not ready for our encounter.
You caught me in the midst of
tending to my own crop
of seaweed,
Trying to farm a plant who thrives underwater
Hoping it would die above land,
along with the cobalt of my sorrow.
I tried to continue
to bury tear.
ash aching algae.
kiss goodby coral.
You took my hand and used your sleeve
to wipe my grieving sweat.
You asked me set down my sow
my sorrow
and put my farm to fire
Start anew
I feared the black rebirth
but you promised me
I would never have to cultivate solo
Ever again.
You reached for my fist
and finger by finger
the freedom of soil and seed emerged
There I stood
As I was always meant to be from birth
a mother
of nature
a snakeskin of anguish
a forever lover of
you.

You laugh like you have never been lonely
You forget that I know you
That I see
the lump in your throat
                                                          ­                                                 hiding

You clean up after others
like you have no mess yourself
that is alright my love
I see the cracks in your elbow grease

You are just like your mother
A warrior in the battle of suffering
How could anyone not love that about the both of you?

You disperse tissues and cotton sleeves and squeezes
to anyone who even blinks a tear towards you

Your mother has a handkerchief for occasions like this.

Behind you I focus on the way your curls twist
Chestnut waves and rings
I've focused on them before in times like this

How is the familiar so comforting?
Your father's glasses and upright chest
Your sister's side hugs and repetitive "how are you's?"
Your mother's matching necklace-earrings and observing,
always on watch
Your husband's one Old Navy button up and dispatched humor
The way, these days, I want to hug you and never let go.

I yearn to be a thief
Can I rob your father's pain? Your mother's pain? Your sister's pain?
                                                   Your pain?
If I am present long enough will you let me help you?

When you called me and told me you could never imagine losing your best friend
I repeated the cadence in your voice and the words for hours on a long drive home
I reminded myself that I always hope I go first
So I never have to see what the world is like without you.

She is gone
and all of us remain
to make sure that we relationally gain
Even among all of life's pain

Seductive emerald green eyes meet seductive full lips that hide a smile that is only exposed at the most genuine of times. A man who has probably fifteen different types of laughs in response to three different types of scenarios. Sleepy, but not in a boring way—a sentimental kind of “checking in for the night”, Chris has only one dimple and only one type of tolerance for people. He isn’t a schmoozer, which is shocking as a salesman. You know where you stand with him and every type of person finds him so appealing that they secretly hope that they are always on his good side. Values aren’t a word or a list for him, they are a way of living. It’s not a thought or an intention, rather just who he is---a beautiful golden boy. Oh, but not in a sweet, novelty way. He has the perfect amount of edge---where you just want to keep looking, keep watching his every move. To say he is interesting in every sense of the word wouldn’t be enough.
I digress.
This is a bio meant to be reflective of his cinematic professional role. He is the lead. He isn’t center stage, but you want him to be. So modest that you have to grab him by the hand and pull him right in the middle so everyone can see him where he belongs: the spotlight. He’s the conductor sitting in the drummer’s seat. It takes an encore to get him to perform and when he does it’s a well that will never run dry. It’s never enough.
A jack of all trades? Would I describe him like that? Maybe some days, but for the most part he is king of hearts, He’s passionate, competent, and the best kind of human-organically sincere. You want to buy what he’s selling, you want him to call you friend, and if you’re really lucky like I am, romantic partner.
Success is in your veins my love. You were never meant to be a part of the crowd and that’s what one of the hundreds of reasons why I adore and love you.
You are all I’ve ever wanted.

Three steel hinges,
pronged finger,  holding hands with wall and door.
They represent
land and ocean and continents
Isn't it funny how grief and longing become a sixth sense?

When my marriage ended
I couldn't stomach a welcome mat.
The door became
a safe functionality to the entrance of my home

(can I call it home? When my heart is only at home with you? And I didn't have you, until the three pronged moment)

Anyways, I get caught up in the details...

Your eye contact was my sustenance
it was the first step off of a 15 hour flight,
My flip book,
where I shove  
thumb, pushing pages
Snapping your sweet smile.

Can I create a crane out of these pages?
To hold onto them in some physical form

All that matters is you entered my (home)
When every wall whispered your name for months

Those hinges waved
and the corners of my residence
within my heart
within my breath
within my physical walls
were at last, hushed.

My miss. How I never want to ever miss you so.

Two weeks ago you said,
"We went through the wringer"
Five words
like sumo wrestlers
sit, legs open
comfortable on my chest

Three "best friends"                     Australia                           ­             me

When did it begin?


When I was pushed up against a wall in some basement bar
And he spit at me, "****" "*****" "Worthless *******"?
Shoved so hard that strangers

Had to "go through the wringer"

I walked home alone that night

You were not who I called.

Or was it when I was stalked and threatened
And then showered with adoration and the love (lip service) I never received from the man who is responsible for my birth

Was it then, that you felt like you had to go through the wringer?

You were not who I called.

Could it have been when I was forced to **** his ****?
Was that when you were "going through the wringer"

You were not who I called.

Or was it when he let himself into my apartment
And I ****** myself when I opened the door
He was eating my food standing over me

You were not who I called.

I think I know when it was

It was when he showed up to my work
When he threatened me
Then left the most eloquent love letter at my doorstep
Told me he loved me and would do anything to make it right
And tried to punch my childhood best friend's boyfriend in the face

What a"wringer" to go through

You were not who I called.

I am confused.

What wringer were you going through?

Because you were not who I called.

When I dream
I grab myself by the shoulders
I squeeze deep into the bones
that flare on the corners of collar bone,
just enough to feel the ridges that reach my back blades.
I take hold
and shake myself in a way that the halo of curls around my head
turn straight
I scream,
                                        RUN

                    I am nothing but a blank stare.

                                      NUMB

from the veins screeching out of your forehead
the liquor leering over your hateful sentences
the manipulative maze you force me to walk through,
blind folded

I keep apologizing
for your rage.
I disappear with every "sorry."

Please free me.
Leave me.
Please.

The all of me is a desert
Cracking at the surface
You withhold water
from your hands,
the skin is curling up
into greedy wrinkles
Seeds struggle underneath my lips
They could burst through
if you would just