the raindrop
life (transience
is a home)
loneliness
forms
on clear days
rising out
of reach
& always
when you wake
(originally published in Literary Yard, Summer 2018)
simple
Umbrella
In the lips of thunder, we never feel full
as rain slips from our mouths– the brick
streets are slicked with histories we will
not yet slip. Sediment lodged in the curb
will displace in time. Our tongues slicken
in the dry we create so we thirst for the
wet we tried simply to shield from ourselves.
(originally published in The 1932 Quarterly, Autumn 2018)
Paradox
in drinking
I add more
of myself
to myself
in living
I add more
time as
it subtracts
(originally published in Misty Mountain Review, 2017)
Simple Light
Your wristwatch ticks slower than mine.
Time does not account for the beating
of two hearts
on opposite coasts.
Know we pass through days the same:
second by second, minute,
hour, moon– every second,
every minute I fill myself
with your moonlight,
and when your crystal radiates
at the thrust of night,
we are endless, meaningless
as the turn of the hour
when the gleam of your smile
will guide me from the dark.
(Originally published in Eunoia Review, Winter 2017)
Kite
How you ran
with eyes averted.
Kite and string, we
wanted the wind,
a laugh–
I hold and
wonder when
the breeze
will come.
(originally published in Up the River, Fall 2017)
Fortune Cookie (May 9, 2017)
You have good reason
to be self-confident.
After all, this is what
the fortune cookie said.
After a dinner portion
of greasy lo mein
from New Peking.
After CNN reports
the president’s firing
of the FBI director.
This is a gross abuse of power,
and there is a gross amount
of noodles inside me.
Despite that,
I have good reason
to be self-confident,
I suppose.
I am reasonably certain
I still have a job.
I am reasonably certain
I am not under investigation.
There was no backdoor
deal struck with the restaurant
to ensure this would be
my particular
fortune.
All I did was order
the noodles via telephone.
Then I drove to the
restaurant to pick it up,
face-to-face.
I used my credit card
to pay for it, but
I will pay the bill.
In the plastic bag
they handed me,
there was a brown bag.
In the brown bag,
there was a white box
with my food in it
as well as chopsticks,
napkins, a fork, and
the fortune cookie.
That’s it.
All I’m saying is
if you don’t believe
me, investigate.
Anyone who says
differently
is reasonably suspicious.
(originally published in Landfill, Fall 2017)
Getting Sober
If I don’t watch it, this lake
is vodka and I won’t care I don’t
know how to swim. Getting sober
is like that. I go out into the world
and look you in the eyes and say
I’m fine. I’m having a good time
and you go on never knowing
I was half-underwater, that
there was a monster trying
to make its way to the surface
and I had to push him down.
(originally published in Rattle, Winter 2018 – nominated for Best of the Net)
Before We Stepped Outside
you
painted
my head
white
soft hands
planted roots
on my scalp
spring warmth
cherry blossoms
in your laugh
petals
on our tongues
(originally published in Gnarled Oak, Summer 2017)
Shifting Junes
you forgot my name white
smoke phantasmagoria
every transparent slide
a memory or blankets
of sweat-covered voices
the fan’s whir &
whisper was always you
remembering how
to say it
(originally published in This Zine Will Change Your Life, Winter 2018)
Distant
Sitting in the kitchen
of my childhood home,
longing to be home,
I know I’ve lost another
one, another in a string
of partners, balloons of
many colors floating to
some high-up place
where I thought
we both would be
(originally published in The Stray Branch, Spring 2018)