Sep 17

Exit Card

"Sometimes I feel a little breathless." 

Ocassionally, when the sky
gives way to smoke I am: spread starfish
on my bed, fingers tapping,
circulating something I should've said or done in my head.  

Is it always like this? 
Must I always pretend not to breathe?

Last night I gave myself to the Road to Nowhere. 
I flailed around my golden room- I let myself become warm with dancing. 

Sometimes, when I'm stuck the best thing to do is manufacture freedom. 
Sometimes, I feel like it will never come. 

Today, I met a boy. 
I wanted him to ask me my name.
I wanted him to look at me, really look
and tell me what he saw. 

When was the last time you did that for yourself?
When was the last time you didn't need anyone else to tell you who you are? 
Jun 23

LostKids

His head is a cavern 
I search for at night.

We hold leather and paper
and honey in our twisted hands
and open our mouths to each other  
and pretend to say 
all the things we used to long for.

The bathroom now smells like copper
and the roof leaks wine at the corners.
 

I want his field
and her lips
and the swimming hole at the end of the hill. 

 

I want the closet we used to hide in 
and the names we traced
on each other's backs
and all the years we swallowed
while drinking bitter lemonade. 

He cuts his own hair 
and admits to feeling lighter.
He buys a train ticket 
and admits to stealing
the innocent morning light. 

He does not get caught.
He does not return.


It's easy to get lost 
when you're not searching.
It's easy to leave when you think you're not wanted. 

 

Jun 03

Ginkgo Tree

May 28

How to Sing for the Dead (Golden Shovel after In a Station of the Metro By Ezra Pound)

When, in The
morning, your eyes appear as an Apparition
above my bed, I am not afraid. I do not think Of
your hands or the weight These
thoughts hold. Faces
do not have to be our defining feature. In
spring once, you told me The
sound of my voice brought a Crowd:
you threw Petals
onto the pavement, On
the cold, round earth and A
broken old lady with a trail of Wet
tears knelt to pick the Black
off her shoe, next to a fallen, blooming Bough. 

 
May 18

Less and Less

Last summer I spilled coffee on my favorite pair of jeans
so I cut a hole the shape of a star
and now only wear them to bed.

Often I wake in the morning to the sound
of a foghorn.
I am neither near an ocean or dreaming.

Later I crave red currents and a sunset. 
I have neither. I eat a popsicle
in the bathtub and hope it helps. 

Sometimes I think I see her hands
on my windowpane before I close the shade.
I suffocate more than usual with cotton
stuffed up my mouth.
I breathe like I'm running just to witness
my own sweat.

My little sister buries a plum in the garden
and tells me to wait.
"Just you see," she says, "next year we'll be eating purple orbs."
I throw my head back and gaze at the sky.
"Maybe" I whisper at her receding back.
She is so unlike a plum.
I wonder why she wants them. 

 
May 05

For the Plane that is Stuck Halfway Around the World and My Sister Who Escapes in the Night

The soil in the bathroom sink 
smothers the water
and I don't turn off the faucet.

I want the whole house to fill 
with the emptiness of an ocean.
I want the whole house to smell my hurt. 
I want the whole house to disappear into the cavern of my ear. 

The front door cracks open,
trailing her feet and the music 
and the splinter
she gets from dancing on rough asphalt at two AM. 

I couldn't let the twenty-four sprouts that were supposed
to be a science experiment die. 
I couldn't forget the dream I had when my birds got free.
They split the sky with their talons. The moment I saw them I knew they were gone. 

I forget how to write when I cry.
I forget how to close my eyes and see her face
when the boys in the house next door laugh so hard their fingernails break.
I forget where my hands go when I am swallowing the oppressive face of the moon. 
I stay up at night
Apr 27

Acadia

Apr 03

Still Searching the Remaining Episodes

These are the final four podcasts in the series of six that I created for an independent research project at school. 
Episode 3 is called 'Searching for the Sites'
Episode 4 is called 'Digging for Contacts' 
Episode 5 is called ' Odd Coincidences'
and Episode 6 is called 'Conclusions' 


You can access the two previous episodes by clicking on the titles below:
Episode 1 'The Secret Safe'
Episode 2 'Souvenir Medallion' 
Apr 02

Ode To The Snipe Ireland Lightning Bugs


Let me live forever in those evenings filled with sticky heat
and your hands, fumbling for the doorknob. 

I’ve forgotten how to run.
You refused to give up on rain
and the frigid creek by the road. 

I don’t remember
how many stars we caught in jars,
but I know we released every one. 

I don’t remember
how many times I felt like spinning and spinning
under the moon that opened like a wound. 

September nights taste of mangoes. 
They land thick and sweet in my mouth 
and get caught between my teeth.

I wanted to sit out on your porch
and gnaw on the night’s pit. I never
wanted to sleep again. 

I didn’t mean to lose you
long enough to move on. 

 

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