were two good friends in Los Angeles,
and in last night’s dream, Andrew announces
he quit acting, though we knew him as a screenwriter,
because he found success in Ohio, and thinking back,
in reality, we were journeying toward the same adolescent
dream, green stars, and we pursued when we were heartbroken,
worn-out, reckless, and last I saw Andrew he stuffed quarters
into the jukebox at gold-lit Birds, repeating Sussudio, commenting
on every woman at the bar, and I didn’t speak up. And Jesse had
returned that day from Thailand. He was sad and I was in love.
I had a chance to see him again– last fall, New York– but he has
a kid now and I could not muster a bus, or to revisit reminiscing
the dreams we shared, what we had to wake up from
during our long, separate searches for meaning.
(originally published in Ink Pantry, Fall 2024)
Improv
The Doubt That Follows Improv Class
Projection meaning screen is blurry.
I don’t want any part of.
Correct. I ended improv
class inspecting
my anxious habits–
has it been too long?
my demons asked.
I could not
answer honestly. Walked
away and waved
to the prospective
attention of no one.
Still, when clouds
are classically beautiful
I recall the simple mistakes.
No one counts
their turns, no one
passes their
inhibitions.
I scan the sky
for a piece of absolution.
Such indelicate pertinence,
this honest-to-however-many-
times I treat myself
like a stray without looking
away.
(originally published in Yellow Mama Magazine, Fall 2024)
101
Improv class was how
I learned to say what
I wanted to say to you–
ice became the basis
instead.
I froze on stage
into an audience of burning arms.
If limbs were currency,
I’d be rich
in dangling
inside jokes from class when
I should have let you
in on conversations we both were part of–
inches from the icebox,
our freezer.
(originally published in Rollick Magazine, Winter 2023)
Trying to Make Friends After Improv Class
up treacherous stairs at the end
of January to sit in the hidden
room at the back of the Tap
where we question west elm
shelves the green-lit décor
a chicken bone and Catholic
school what I have learned
is instead of being funny
just talk about triangles
hanging on white walls
the weird will happen
math emotions a geometry
like which-year-Texas-
Instrument calculator
you wrote 80085 on
was it 84 was it 83
what I learned everything
is improvisational
the drink selection
the sidewalk ice the
weather our atoms
bouncing off each
other’s atoms in
quantum uncertainty
where will this go
if we sew shut our
fervent minds and
listen to what we
don’t know next
will ever happen,
ever
(originally published in Stickman Review, Winter 2022)