Monday, March 27, 2023

last glimpse

the same tired veteran
passes, head down
bucket hat eternal
between his thoughts
& the suburban sun

the annual invasion of
wood borer bees, & me
gently redirecting their ire
at my deck sitting presence
with a brave hand

the hum of five different
mowers, a struggle to have
conforming lawns, grasses
of matching heights, edges
clean, flowerbeds decluttered

this is what I imagined of life
an unending drone, basking in
monotony, alone inside while
joggers passed & waved to the
appearances of peace

this is my last week here in this
happy neighborhood with its happy
joggers and happy lawn care &
(maybe not so happy) bees all
baking in the glow of safety

and I couldn't be happier

Friday, March 3, 2023

no space

there are walls here
in between the walls,
surfaces of silence 
deflecting silence

tangled wire has no
room to unravel so it
spools larger & presses
us down into furniture

it's all a mess & we 
pick up our feet wordlessly
without so much as 
existing

dance close to all these
edges to escape the telling,
that this civility has become 
exhausting

I have every right &
none at all to feel
any of this

Tuesday, February 7, 2023

firsts

my first hard liquor coincided 
with my first train trip, though
it all happened during the night,
as good adventures tend to do 

the windows of an empty
observation car mirrored only us,
me: scribbling in a backpocket journal,
her: drawing my anime portait 

a full year countdown to my
unexpected motherhood, but
what I seem to recall most vividly
were my sweet jeans with the 
reinforced knees

happy hour

"nothing matters,"
~feels nicer than~
"everything matters
& I've fucked it all up."

I lie there listening,
realizing I've mistaken
crumbs for banquets
all my life, swapping the 
causes & effects

nothing matters
is the the best 
scenario

new every day

each morning
I piece together this
collage of a human

pasting myself together
with songs, poems, films,
favorite food, drink,
interpretive dance

different highs

today, it's Yann's 
accordion, violin &
staccato toy pianos
as edge pieces with
bloody mary filler 

but tomorrow

tomorrow I may wake
into new skin &
Sam's Good Times
may be what soothes
my soul & if I'm pain free
I'll have a Cherry Coke

Sunday, January 8, 2023

pieces

my favorite part
of these stories
are the afterwords

mapping a smooth
landscape with
fingertips

archiving his
terrain for future 
distraction 

pulling fabric over 
my ridges, valleys,
fault lines of age

I shatter often,
mend between 
deaths

& fill in the cracks
left behind
with gold