Posts
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Writer's Curse
You are a student of a language, warping butter-like words on your tongue.
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I Miss my Grandmother's House
She died when I was twelve
and I still miss her house
with a VHS copy of Cinderella too precious to shelve
She died when I was twelve
and I know it's best not to dwell
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Advent Candles
winter
traditional
candles on the table
Advent is here in flame and fire
It's warm.
winter
transitional
Christmas films on cable
Advent light now frames the foyer
It's warm.
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A Haiku and a Realization
Free verse poetry
overtakes the English tongue
beautiful but sad
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The Beginning
And then there were Two.
There was Nothing and there were Two and they were not in love. Love was not a thing yet, there was Nothing.
One said to the other, "I've discovered I can say words."
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At least I'm writing
I need to write.
God, do I.
It's been days, with no click of the keys
to write out simple stories, poems, words
things that will never see the light of day
but I still love.
Loves
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the american dream
i toured six different colleges over the past week
& i didn't care about the clubs
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last snow (again)
it's snowing,
again,
and through the endless endless white and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock
on the wall i halfheartedly wonder what the cardinal
in the bird feeder thinks of this.
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3 : 0 0 A M
solar-soft night because i stayed up whispering non-existent melodies to the dreaming clouds,
pierced the veil of daybreak with needle-sharp notes-
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Wife of a Nation
You vacuum the carpet in the same direction,
straight lines like ribs, hoping to be noticed,
hoping someone sees proof of you,
the ghost of your hands pressed into the fibers.
