Used to be you’d be the one
I’d tell balloons to– the moon
changed positions in the sky,
obscuring Orion. I’d wake
and brew you coffee dark
as peering down a well,
then drop into your cosmos,
dreams you just survived
in the night. This left me
an azure hue to proceed
through the day, delivering
good news of bread and butter
to those who were hungry
in my chosen city’s streets
of lead. I’d hold gold. Now
I am present in the intersection
of three rivers, a bridge
standing on steel Xs on
a stack. I want to be a pillar
for all who drive me home.
(originally published in Ariel Chart, Spring 2024)
constellation
You Celebrate Your Birthday While I Have a Religious Experience
Learning how to swim–
can’t say I haven’t
counted hours stars
float in the night infinite
darkness I cannot claim
sanctity within us. You point
to Orion like a familiar
neighbor like I would point
to a passing thought or ripple
believing it significant
as the moment passes.
(originally published in Artvilla, Spring 2023)
Self-Isolation (Day Twenty-Three – April 5, 2020)
In the morning light that surprised in all the surrounding
darkness of the era I am only hungry for the world to change
its tune from Virus Major to Canis Minor like back when all
the sad dogs sought regular companionship through the day.
Though home is where the heart is (TJ MAXX propaganda)
the heart is home far too often, staring to the sky in need of
a long embrace from ever-shifting clouds that spread thinner
and thinner by the wings of blackbirds gloriously racing
through the whiteblue plane.
(originally published in Pendemic, Spring 2020)