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)
new york
Invisibility (NYC)
Chin on window, I still somehow lost
myself in the crowd: the subway
left me here, at my draped destination. Yet
street guitars and strangers’ chatter echo
in the underground, eardrums thrumming through
this maze of machines: ticket-takers, escalators.
Half-shell, half-mind, I ascend into the grid
of civilization: deadened lego towers, blind
in the clouds, airplanes wending through
faint chemical composition quarter-notes.
(originally published in Pif Magazine, Summer 2019)
Talking Stand-Up Comedy in Pittsburgh
It’s Kat’s birthday and the room laughs
at sad Neil Young songs opposite this
vibrant party. I meet Meeti who says
she has good jokes, bad presence.
She has grander aspirations. I tell her
I never planned to be in this city, either.
She needs a New York or LA. I came
from both & couldn’t hang. Birthday
spirit drifts in this room around us,
everyone having an amicable time.
We are, too, except we can only dream
of spotlights, butterflies, our names in
neon because we’d rather smoke quietly
in the dark corners of social gatherings
(originally published in The Big Windows Review, Summer 2021)
Scenery
My roommate takes me
for a walk, or she takes the dog
for a walk. It doesn’t matter.
It’s the second night
we’ve walked each other,
or the dog walked us,
sore throat, brainy fog,
and this time can’t even find
the moon, obscured by houses.
We look anyway, together,
comparing bloom to doubt,
how one is sure, the other
grows, and leaves
crunch beneath as the dog
stops our walking
to pee, to leave another
thing behind. On Sunday
I watched the Niagara dump millions
of gallons into itself, mist rising
into something, nothing. The moon
loomed huge over the bridge
to America towing sunset’s lavender
bed but you can watch a thing die
before your eyes, or not at all–
the way, driving back from Canada
in heavy traffic, I tapped you
on the shoulder on the sky bridge
and said, look, here’s something,
one thing beautiful left, look,
and took the world’s last magnificent,
proffered blue and there, as a passenger,
you refused.
(originally published in The Knicknackery, 2018)
East 149th, 6PM
dark crowds of wanting hands
your lover’s hands
interchangeable with others’ hands
(originally published in Beechwood Review, Issue #2)