Life Moves Fast

I haven’t seen you for years–
not since long drives
of oaks to school in
snowy Februaries
both of us unsure where
we were going after graduation
and now you have a kid
I may never meet though I want
to see you on sunshine coast red
hair blowing where it may go


(originally published in Visceral Uterus, Spring 2018)

Clinton, Ohio

Where I lived was a quiet crescendo
of snow six months of the year
& mosquito summers wearing shorts
into the sweating night

Where I lived had piano thunderstorm concertos
jolting the elderly house’s bones
with frenetic fingers, ivory paint,
red bricks

Where I lived was a lonesome walking trail
where morning chirps of blue jays went unnoticed.
Beds of acorns lined the autumn grass,
a kind of fallout for the process of aging
and the act of leaving

Always, now, in thought, it is a shoebox
of dandelions that writhe when I pet the cold cardboard–
hello, you are home, tonsils– my heart
can’t handle the hand-shaped imprints
from so far away


(originally published in Rubbertop Review – Volume VII, 2015)