did you see me?
there
there–
(originally published in Canyon Voices Literary Magazine, Spring 2018)
Month: December 2019
Crickets
On the back patio, a cricket chirps beneath
the dirt of graying leaves– September’s chill.
Most days, dust becomes the clouds, this habit
of years knowing you, gone. The blue crickets
strum the cold death of summer– violins. I walk
the perimeter of fence to hear your heartbeat,
shrill– a shiver in the search for permanence.
Childhood: the crickets cry. A car door slams.
Footsteps twist through the crackle of leaves.
The old house hides the light, dips me in
worry: when crickets stop, ashes become
wind– the hymn. The lament of sparrows,
the creak of a gate, the thrum of a plane.
The unbearable passing of another year.
(originally published in Furtive Dalliance, Winter 2018)
Leaving California
I deliberated when traveling the country
because there was no one anywhere waiting,
no one on either coast with arms open wide to hold
me in their jacket in an ocean breeze– no, grime
rocked from screen to shade. The tide of film
frothed over tours viewing Santa Monica
for the first time as if, as they had hoped,
there was something new to see.
(originally published in streetcake, Winter 2018)
Horoscope – May 13, 2017
Expect your love life
to take a dramatic turn
for the better, Taurus.
Consider power steering:
without it, those daunting
curves down the Pacific Coast
can lead to rock wall
or fence or ocean.
When you drove to Philadelphia
without power steering
for the Black Swan premiere,
you didn’t trust your friends
to steer your Taurus. When
you sold it, the red-faced
salesman strained a sweat
steering it mere meters
into wide-open lot.
He asked how do you drive
this dangerous piece of shit?
You answered I am more self-
confident than I have been
in a long time. Today, you
charged down the staircase
wearing a pink polo your
romantic partner said she
wanted to punch you in
the face for. It’s no wonder
she reacts to you
in a positive way when you
change. Make the most of this
opportunity. Walk dirt
roads drunk on Hennessy
with the movement of stars.
(originally published in Construction, Spring 2018)
M I N T
We wandered the meat-factory-
turned-art-gallery, white wall to
white wall, wondering when to
dispel our abstract selves–
positive, negative, we followed
lines from canvas to grate where
blood of cattle used to drain,
where old concrete holds imprints
of feet. My hand sank into yours
that first time. I still see it there.
(originally published in Cold Creek Review, Spring 2018)
Canton Central Catholic
My high school was ninety-nine percent white
classmates without filter said you’re a bit off-kilter
what are you I mean what are you I mean
all I am is me my whole life everything I know
half-Filipino half-West Virginian so you mean
like half-Asian half-hick I mean like basically
I don’t have the ear for Appalachia and must
be good at math and I said neither they said
solve this solve this these equations flicked
into my ear shoved into my eyes but my
coping mech was laughter
is there another term for that?
(originally published in Cabildo Quarterly, Winter 2018)
The Stewardess
California leaves in smoke & flame
cigarettes you never touched
the burning
bristle
but your hands
on steel made a home
in airplanes
soaring over the evergreen
we outgrew
you called a bottomless lake
drowning
monsters deep in murk
in the way of work
was love &
understanding this
you left the city
became the sky
(originally published in The Inflectionist Review, 2018)
The Employment of Dreamers
After Gray Clark
I need to quit my job as the caretaker of people
who surrendered art to come home from work
and watch television. I can imagine acrylic
burning a canvas for eternity. Giving up
mattered to me a year ago. It will
matter again in a year.
(originally published in Flypaper Magazine, Winter 2018)
Kimmy Granger
The green blanket over your head–
Kimmy Granger gets fucked
by a fake photographer
on your iPhone in my hand.
Meanwhile, you ride me, moaning–
it’s snowing– December’s waning
autumn days– awaiting a kind of fate
under flicked-off lights
in the gray of afternoon.
Before this, we reminisced about
the early days– laying in bed my hand
in your hair listening to music.
Then late July laying in grass saying
the ways we make each other happy.
Which is why I must rewind this clip
over and over to the part where Kimmy
is smiling and laughing before
the whole thing starts and
I pine for the blanket, your
green thread and lint.
(originally published in Ghost City Review, Winter 2018)