Posts
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1st day of school
"Tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it yet." ~ L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
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The last poem I'll write about you
Memories frozen in amber
are dropped on my doorstep like a cruel present--
your freckles and your smile and your green eyes like grass and summer leaves,
that nickname nobody had ever called me
before you, -
None of the days have passed away
The stars have yet to fall from the sky.
They cling to the velvety darkness above them, little silver pinpricks, listening for their cue,
for when they can explode in a burst of white-hot magnificence
to lead the way to our cabins -
Blackberries
When you look at me like that I feel dumb –
pretending you didn't make me weak in the knees.
Pretending I didn't feel them, the zaps of electricity
crackling in your laugh.
Pretending I was ever immune
to you. -
i might cry
It'll be hard to write this poem because
I might cry
when the words become jumbled memories
nostalgia pouring out of the depths of my mind and unfolding on a blinding-white computer screen -
Text messages I'd never have the guts to send
Hi
I haven't seen you in a while
How are you doing
I don't think we ever really talkedWe talked so much
We used to talk every dayIt wasn't anything important thoughYou still don't know why I did what I didIt's fine
Loves
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your reply
And I wait for you
It's dangerous, exciting
I know who you are.
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morning after the first rain in weeks
Astronomy room.
post storm; window open; wet.
cooling Earth soaked air. -
i am not numb
I don't read the Bible. I lie a lot, tell people I've read Genesis--can one even read Genesis? The beginning of things, written--but I've really just perused it.
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pumpkin patch in september
when the time comes
i am not ready.
as in,
the ground beneath me is still dew-soft with summer
and i am just barely stretching awake
to a morning not yet frosted over. they grab my stem
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Boxes of Those Photos
We used to be seven
My curls used to be sunshineColored
You used to be stubborn
Naive stubborn.
The powder used to hit our kneesOn the days
When we could eat lunch in four bites
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Fall and trees and wondering about love
It’s:
twisted
crinkled like
the leaves
they’re frail now,
on the edge
of not there.
scrolling photos
feverishly