hand me down stories
an indian burial ground
figures in the woods
three piles of rocks
the same log
bundle of blood


               i am so, so sorry

Adding honey to my tea and grabbing a stirrer, I see you out of the corner of my eye, baseball cap on, nose buried deep in a book.

Walking on these downtown streets today I thought to myself “I’m happy, and I’m happy without him”


See, the pain of our love crashing and burning doesn’t matter until I see you.


My stomach drops, my veins seize up, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.


I wish I could’ve said hello, I wish I could’ve asked “reading something interesting?”

But this is our reality, pretending we’re strangers and forcing the nights we spent under the moon out, out, out of our heads.


I don’t think I could look you in the eyes, I think it would immediately tug my heart down to my feet


The idea of us being friends is bittersweet like lemon drops, but no one talks about the bitter aftertaste.


I wish you well, I wish you happiness, and I hope you enjoy your cup of coffee with your read.

Little white sails
Skimming the horizon
Little white clouds
Whisped throughout the sky
Little sandy pebbles
Tumbling through my toes
Little loudening thoughts
Of life just passing by.
|b.g.|

We walked through the woods,
when it was growing thick with shadows, the way smoke funnels
out a chimney. She wore a hoodie and yoga pants,
attire to match her mood: relaxed and comfortable.
Her eyes reminded me of what lies beneath puddles,
after a rainstorm had passed through
the small hometown, which disowned you.
We wrote songs while sitting on tree stumps,
chewing tobacco and drinking gin.
Because, we wanted people to write movies about us,
like the ones they played before the explosion
took out a half of Paris, DC, and Sydney.
Test me again, and I will never talk to you,
you said those words and you meant it.
I regret ever running
into you at the house,
and falling for you,
like how I'm falling
over on my ***.
And now we will never text,
have a conversation,
or hold each other in bed.
Kiss me goodnight,
but don't say
that you ever cared about me,
because I don't believe
in the lyrics,
your favorite musician sings.

It was winter of 16'
I met a boy in the land of Mary,
We went on our first date in the diner,
With my boy, boy from Detroit.

We shared an omelette, he put on extra ketchup
A scene I'll keep reminiscing.
We talked and laughed, as if no one's there
Suddenly I felt something so familiar
On the way to his car, I asked if he's cold
He said, No I'm fine, I am from Detroit.

In his car to the movie, in downtown Washington, D.C.
The movie is  called Manchester by the sea
I looked at him while he talked about how his parents met in Annapolis.
My first blue eyed boy, oh Michael from Detroit.

He said that he would leave, in the month of February
To China, to pursuit his dreams.
I said ,it's fine, it's not like I am looking for a relationship.
Little did I know, I will fall for this boy from Detroit.

It was winter of 16', we always liked to have some ice cream
Wandering in the city of the district
Sometimes we didn't, sometimes we did
Know where the street is taking us to
We may stand in the cold, try to figure out which way to go
But with him I'd never get lost.

My boy from Detroit, it was never a fling
but why are there so many" what we could have been"?
Before you left, you asked my when do I know,
When do I know that I have feelings for you?
Well I guess it was the moment I unexpectedly agreed
to go to a movie with you after dinner
In your black Ford on a late Friday night

It was winter of 16'
We are both at the crossroad,not knowing where life
Would take us to
But we will be fine, after some time
We will meet again without tears in my eyes.
This is for you, Mike
Oh my boy from Detroit

When the day come,I would gladly
Change my last name to Olevnik.

For the smallest of stature,
She was the biggest in the room.
It lit up whenever she entered,
And I did all that I could to not make a fool of myself.

It only took a weekend for me to fall hard.
She was quirky, but serious,
She was cute, but beautiful,
And I tried everything that I could to not get reeled in.

Less than seventy two hours...
That's all it took for me to feel like I had fallen seventy two stories.
And just like that,
I had to leave her and Ellicot City behind.

It was the longest three hour drive.
Back to New York City I went,
Leaving her and the weekend in my rear view mirror.
Heaven only knows when I'll see her again.

Traveling (with Frost) down the lightly trodden path,
with shoed soles sauntering over thawed earth,
twisting down the narrow trail,
away from the prying eyes of tour guides—

Encompassed by flowery heads who mirror the sun,
who burst forth with fluorescent green necks
craning from the dirt,
delineating our path in cascades of springing splendor.

Sensing the ostinato of ambulant waters crescendo,
we soon break from the budding foliage—
To be greeted by gentle winds
and the lapping of placid waves

who break onto the languid shore
onto shoed and socked feet,
who sense holy ground and immediately
kick off their bindings—

To sink into the earth,
and gritty sand reaching up between toes;
the water deceptively inviting,
is greeted with delightful shrieks in its refreshing chill.

Secluded in our cove,
we gaze over the waters where to our right
rests a breathing reconstruction of the Dove;
we stand awed before these waters
both the settler and the native.

What gods were praised on these lands,
and in these woods,
and in these skies,
and in these waters?

And on March 25, 1634,
in the promising onset of spring,
what had they to sing in the calm airs
as the settlers crossed the threshold of the Potomac?

She whispers,
“Funny how the water appears green on the shore,
and clear on the river.”

--St. Mary's City, March 10, 2016.