I was stirred awake by a sound so familiar
A cry barely audible through closed doors
Gently I removed her head from its home
Nestled close upon my chest
As not to disturb an angel from her slumber,
The rest a mother so dearly deserves
I rose to my feet, a guardian to those I love
Feeling as I always have before, a need to protect them
With subtle steps I crept over to the room adjacent
Expecting to find only a child, teary eyed and alone
The cries were louder now, but the bed empty
A fear rose over me, for the boy’s only two
Franticly I searched through the closet and clutter
My heart beat quickly against my chest
I lifted the mattress, greeted at last by bright blue eyes
My hands wrapped around tiny wrists
Pulled him free from his hiding
Picked him up with relief like none I’d felt before
Held him tight in my tattooed arms
And he rested his head upon my shoulder
But the tears still they streamed
I could feel their cold trails
As they rolled down my bare back
I rocked him the way she had so many times before
Promised him everything would be alright
He clung fast to me, I could sense he’d found safety
And soon the tears ceased to flow
While his mother was sleeping I was proud of myself
Taking care of my family, everything just felt so right
As I basked in the moment and whispered to him
Suddenly, slowly, he lifted up his little head
Turned toward the door and then he said, “Mommy”
And surely enough through the crack she was there
Watching her man with her boy in his care
I could see in her eyes that she’d found all she’s wanted
In those few short minutes, in that little room
She had seen all the wonder that I had felt
If reality is far better than you can imagine
There’s no need for sleep when real dreams can happen

If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime;
the song too frozen to melt on her tongue.
I am scared of all her moving on.
The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight.
I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here.
The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane.
I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her.  That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes.
I am scared that I am being overdramatic.
I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars.
Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother.
I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees.
Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt.  Like dive bars miss blues music.
When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.

I HEARD SOMEWHERE THAT THE LIFESPAN OF BUTTERFLIES IS ONLY A COUPLE OF MONTHS BUT IT'S BEEN ALMOST 7 AND I'M PRETTY SURE THE ONES RESIDING IN MY STOMACH ARE YET TO PASS THEIR STAGES OF YOUTH