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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To Georgia, On Leaving
you traded for freedom with fireflies,
gave up bug lights for city ones.you miss me like you miss fireflies;
a necessary surrender for your future. -
Josh—a bottle of wine
There is a sort of gentleness; a sort of beauty in the empty bottle of wine sitting on my dresser amongst more innocent things
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Sew Me A Quilt?
I want your freckled cheeks and blond eyelashes
and I want your flying hair
and I want your careful words that start tumbling fast,
woven together,
please
so I can wrap myself up
and remind myself of happy.
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Memories and solid things
If I could weave the memories of you in a giant blanket
The night sky would appear
Or maybe the streets of that one city in Central America
The unspoken words caught in a language barrier
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She Breathed the World Through Poetry
And it tucked wildflowers
Between the pages,
Petals and pollen spiralled
Like constellations,
Still whispering of the breeze
And of the shooting stars;
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17
on the night that you broke your eyes open,
cried into candy packets you found at the petrol station smelling like gasoline and regret
in your still-standing baby teeth like slabs of sugared marble there were