I wish I still had time to write you letters
but I am stuck between branches with heavy
workload. I want to commit again to art, at least,
to singing songs with you on the beach under
natural harmonies of seagulls. The forest froze
under another frigid season, so I come to shore
in a long trench coat, alone, held firmly between
two worlds: the one in which I don’t have time
to do everything I want, and the other, in which
I still don’t, but keep your words dangling close.
(originally published in Academy of the Heart and Mind, Winter 2021)
I need new faces
I used to find
through the smells
of mom’s scrambled eggs
I want to be
a bullet train
I’ll tell my future grandkids
(originally published in Neologism Poetry Journal, Summer 2017)
*Pushcart Prize Nomination
Sometimes I say what I don’t mean.
There is an algorithm which can make me forget;
the others remind me to remember.
Your action has been undone. As if my actions
needed a separate undoing– I did not expect you,
with your raven hair, to perch our thousand
miles, thousand days to bottle time
and cast to sea, a folded note to be read
by a stranger at shore. Here, I am a knot
bound to be undone, tethered to a battered shoe,
and in the sprint, wind coarsens your hair.
In the cold we move closer and closer until the breathing
is stale and fogs my car’s windows, the outside world
turned gray. Confusing a fluorescent lightbulb for the moon,
I would risk one more rejection to bring you even nearer,
past the point of no return.
(Originally published in Corium Magazine, Spring 2016)