I ask when kissing
our cat does this
make you jealous?
Not because it is
my mission. Today
marks shedding
season the first
day of spring.
Dry lips coated
with fur because
winter was long
and tomorrow
we will be new.
(originally published in DoubleSpeak Magazine, Summer 2023)
Poet
2008 Fragment (College)
There is a picture of you standing
in a blue IKEA bag in the chapter
room because we wanted to find God,
me and Jack and Chris. That led us
to IKEA in Robinson, Pennsylvania
and I knew not to fall asleep
in your car but I did anyway. We
were toying with the brand new
Garmin. We knew the route it wanted
us to take was not the best but
we took it anyway because technology.
I wasn’t the one who was going to tell
the lady who locked us in the parking
garage we got stuck in that we needed
to be let out. You did, and I have the
picture in my memory of you telling
her. I wish I remembered the words.
(originally published in *82 Review, Fall 2022)
Fall Guys
gonna be a good dive
pink windmills spin forever
I thanked you already
I am always thanking you
consider this next apology all ready
dizzy heights
I’ll file in the hi Sara folder
maybe I will choose to drop
down to blue under-surface
where everyone’s at I miss that
you mean I’m supposed to grab a tail
with these conveyor belts & keep it
I don’t know my role
but the walls
have googly eyes & I don’t mean
the stampede at the checkered line
these same damn races every time
I’ve never watched the procession after me
don’t worry you haven’t done anything wrong
yet
the situation’s complicated
continue
(originally published in One, Fall 2022)
Milgate Bathroom
When you can’t leave for the forest–
bloomed flower petals on white tile
by the toilet rug. Black comb bleach
cleaner. A tendril reaches from water
glass, vine lights looming. What for
but pale wall? Crystal window. Self-
haircut grass. Small room. Small
ambition. I track my movements.
My hunter is somewhere, hiding.
(originally published in Sybil Journal, Summer 2023)
You’ll Know Me Always by the Red Door
you said the first time I picked you up
on our way to a family-style dinner &
then we drove through curvy hills I am
not yet comfortable with, the darkness
now so fitting.
I came empty-
handed, I didn’t want to drink
too much then drive you home. &
we didn’t know anyone who’d be
at our table but you’re better with
strangers. The restaurant was on
a corner facing a bus stop, &
people watched as I drove doughnuts
around the dual-railroad tracks
adjacent, seeking a place to park
not marked by sign or road decay.
I wanted to talk to you more
about anything, but you opened
my driver door
& walked me in.
(originally published in Words & Whispers, Winter 2023)
Now That You Are Engaged
I refuse to believe
a word you told me. We talked home
movies by your bedside lamp
and shared a feather pillow.
Don’t talk to me about the fate
of birds when morning comes and all
I hear is silence. Then I listen a
little longer and hear your soft breathing
I know you’re faking. You don’t sleep,
I didn’t either. The absinthe on your
breath meant we lived long enough
to forget another night. How could
we forget a lesson like that?
(originally published in Sweet Tree Review, Winter 2023)
Grays
The word just past
your grasp is deaden,
as in: I can’t believe
I’ve been at this job
for five years now.
Still, I wish I had
the fortitude
to last forever
without ominousness–
no heat death if you stare
out into infinity. No
loved ones dying
their hair black
in old age.
(originally published in DREICH, Fall 2023)
Twix
If there is a bowl
of Twix at work,
I will act apathetic
when others are
around. Alone I will
bury open wrappers
tenfold in the trash.
Perhaps I have been
watching too much
true crime television,
or lived in the U.S.
too long– standing
over candy, ripping open
Twix after inadequate
Twix, I find the initial
bite of chocolate
caramel into biscuit
enough to make me
want the whole stick,
the whole candy bowl,
everything I can have
that’s for the taking,
like anything has ever
been entitled to me.
(originally published in PPP Ezine, Winter 2023)
On Sassafras the KEPT ONES
In the alley toward the strip yellow
plant caution tape walking through trash
valley to Iron City Beer no one
needs to pack bags stepping on
white rocks on Sassafras the KEPT ONES
under clouds. Wonder who makes
it out alive. Plastic bag with Lysol
wipe flapped in the wind when tossed
in the trash. Another event stupidly
beautiful to admire. When I look away
I could crash into sunflower NO PARKING
signs. What masochist places
these in the middle of a long busy stretch
of sidewalk? Now bees won’t leave
me alone in this heat
(originally published in Spinozablue, Fall 2022)
I want to channel a simpler time
One without burdens. Without–
never mind. I’ve lost mine. I’m
brainless, more or less, the long
er I live. It feels cumulative. A
long tunnel. I’m reaching to
ward the exit. My arm can’t ex
tend enough to leave the sleeve.
(originally published in ActiveMuse, Spring 2023)