Posts
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Lose you to the night
We talk as the twilight turns to dark ash,
sit out on the porch and catch fireflies in mason jars--
only for a second, then let them fly.
You tell me about friends I barely know, and I nod and smile at you,
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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
Loves
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Starbathing
New starust slicks the shingles
On the ancient roof of the shed
Where a couple of souls lie to clean
Their greying teenage bodies.
The streetlight turns off at
Half past ten,
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She sat on a bench in the park
She sat on a bench in the park when I passed her and I said
Who are you waiting for and she said
He’ll come
He’ll come and I left and I came back and she was still there
He’ll come
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The Words Aren't What I Want
My eyelids stay together
every blink
a little longer than usual wishing
I were still asleep
I don't remember not sleeping
last night
but I guess
that's just the way it is
first block
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Monet's "Woman with a Parasol - Madame Monet and Her Son"
The swirling, hazy perspective on a long summer's day. The feeling as if time has halted. Expansive blue sky dotted with lazy clouds, watched from patches of warm, tickling grass. The swish of clothing, movement.
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some abstract fruit
Juice tastes like your spit on my lips
It overflows, slides down the point of my chin--
I can see the dirt, the darker spots
It smells like my backyard, like orange blossoms in the spring time
