I like the way you hug you squeeze me
like an almost-empty ketchup bottle to
wring the last sputter of my worth. We
spent one laborious summer in the sun,
almost burnt in cigarettes. You walked
your boss’s dog and your boss walked
you on trails we walked by the river.
Walked us. Communion with
the trees, canopy shade, we looked to
the river, in those moments endless.
(originally published in Backwards Trajectory, Spring 2023)
Ohio River
Blue Bridge
sometimes curtains blocking sunlight
are only ghosts sometimes ghost light
in windows only a brightness beyond
the blue bridge I work beneath only
the bridge will lift us over the Allegheny
only the bridge will float us into the grit
of the city the people I used to know
I don’t know them anymore what is
a bed but unmade sheets soft silk
I must become a bridge to get
myself out of bed in morning sunlight
beyond the ghosts of days
I used to possess I was
a curtain blocking the trajectory
of my own light
(originally published in indicia lit, Spring 2022)