Aug 03

When Everything Left

It was sunny the morning everything left. 
The birds in the trees,
ripples on the water,
and you in your shaft of light,
eyes closed,
dust in your short, dark hair. 

We were happy,
I would have it forever. 

And then, you left. 
Quiet steps down the walk 
and a train ticket in a worn-out
overall pocket. 

And you wrote me 
but me but I never did the same.

Because who leaves without saying goodbye
(except the sun, maybe)?
And who forgets to close the door
on the way out
(except when you’re in such a big hurry

you forget who you’re leaving)? 

Don't you remember who
we were together? 
 
Jul 17

New Friend

I met you last week. 

We were quiet
and lonely
and only had the courage to smile. 

Skipping rocks
and occasionally wading into the ocean.

I want to remember it forever.
The way

I met you,
the way you looked at me,
the way the ocean curved
into the horizon
and disappeared.

I want to remember forever how I met you
and when I first saw you smile
and how you sang.

I want to remember not knowing you 
and then suddenly
changing. 
 
Jul 10

Jellyfish

Jul 06
poem 0 comments challenge: Three

Catching

Jul 06

Too Long Ago


Today, on your yellow bike, 
(the one that refuses to turn exactly left) 
you passed the ocean.

It was light blue
and foaming at the edges 
and reminded you of the days
on the ocean with the summer friend
you had made when
you were younger.

He was quiet and smiled a lot.

You pulled over and examined the waves
cresting
and remembered how he
had cried
when you left.

You remembered how many stories
he held inside of him.

Those stories were more of him
than you ever had before.

You remembered the day in the rowboat
with soggy sandwiches and rain. 

And all that lost laughter.

It made you smile again. 

Where was he now?
Did he remember you?
Did you even remember him? 


 
Jun 24

I Would Call You Summer


It’s a smell that
comes just before a rain

One because there are always more

Sunshine for times
when honey drops from fingers
and soapy feet
are a must before bed

She’s small and likes to be held 
and tickled (occasionally)

She’s simple and sweet 
and reminds you
of the time you made pancakes at midnight
just to see what happened before
sizzling smelled so good

Dripping, sticky fingers
remind you of the time the ocean
almost ate you

And the ice cream stand
on the corner of Magnolia and Silver street 
had a sign out front
that tells you to go swimming
and forget your towel

If you run, freezing into salty depths
you’ll remember
you were never taught that rivers
are safer than oceans will ever be

Occasionally I refuse to be frightened
by beautiful forces 
Jun 14

Morning Thoughts

Jun 10

2:30am New York City

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