Aug 26

My Hummingbird Companion

With their rapid beating hearts and tiny wings,
they flutter around like stars in my own universe.
Swirling tones of a green and yellow storm they sing
their sweet, silent songs of melodical verse.

“What is it like to be a human being?”
the birds ask with their unvoiced inquiry.
“To have a body like yours must be freeing,
instead of our bones, so fragile and wiry.”

Should I tell them the truth to their question,
or let them live on in their peaceful naiveté?
My lips part to give them the hurtful confession,
although something inside me kept it at bay.

“You wish for a human body like mine,
but blessings don’t come without a price.
While I long to fly above the clouds and the pines,
being earthbound is my yielded sacrifice.”

I continue on with sustained vigor,
"Everyone wishes for what they don’t have,
yet they don’t see the crucial figures.
Jun 24

Together Evermore

If you walk onto the hill by the house near the ocean,
you will see two figures standing, looking at the ground.
They are holding hands, a boy and a girl,
as the wind whips around them.
Her hair flies into his face, although he doesn’t try to move it.
They would have laughed,
but this is not a time of joy,
only mourning and sadness.
Tears drip down their faces,
the gales picking them up before they hit the grass.
At their feet are two unmarked gravestones,
but they both know who lay dead beneath,
just as they know that no one has bothered to take down those ropes from the ceiling yet.
The pair shouldn’t be here, not together;
their parents didn't want them to be.
That’s why they did what they did.
So they stand there, on top of the hill, looking at the graves.
“Are you ready?” The boy asks.
The girl waits a moment before responding,
“Yes.”
And the boy and girl walk away,
Apr 30

Imploration

This is your last chance.
I don’t write to you on a whim,
only with a bad circumstance,
as our future looks so dim.

My words might not make you enraged,
but I hope you try to take action,
as this is a battle we have all waged;
we are killing our home fraction by fraction.

Don’t try to ignore this plea,
or say that you don’t take part,
as you pour oil into our seas.
This isn’t something we can restart.

Don’t you see how we impact Earth?
Take a minute to look around,
try to decide everything’s worth.
Now imagine it all torn down.

This is might come tomorrow,
in a century or ten years.
The end won’t consist of flowers and rainbows,
but rather screams and guilty tears.

So to you whom I implore,
I have a request for you;
let’s stop all the hate and all the wars,
and come together to solve this issue.
Apr 13

Too Late

“Hi.”
“Not so good.”
“I just feel like I could’ve prevented it, like if I had tried harder…”
“But it is my fault. I saw her deteriorating, and I didn’t do anything to stop her.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Why must the world be so cruel? Why did it hammer her down until she couldn’t take it anymore? What did she ever do to deserve what happened to her?”
“I don’t know, okay? I keep asking myself these questions, and no matter how hard I try, or how hard I wish for her to be back, she never will.”
“She’s gone. I’ll never see her again.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? She’s gone! She’s dead, and her funeral’s tomorrow---”
“I don’t want to go, though. I don’t think I will be able to get through it.”
“I know I should do it for her, but she probably hates me. Who wouldn’t?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll go tomorrow, but only if you go with me.”
“I just wish she was still alive.”
Apr 01

Duet

The cover of the old piano spatters a cloud of dust into the old theater air
as it creaks on its hinges and settles loudly atop the black and white antique.
A shuffle of papers, the screech of the stool across the aged wooden floor,
as the young man sits down and prepares to create 
the canvas for the girl to paint upon with her voice. 
He lifts a single finger, places it on a low note.
The deep vibrato echoes through the empty space of the abandoned hall,
bounces and reflects in the dark void like a ripple of water. 
The man keeps pressing the key, making a steady beat 
as the skeleton of their lullaby.
Slowly, slowly, slowly,
his fingers hit different notes,
jumping about the piano like rabbits in a field.
And slowly, the song begins.
Weaving throughout the room resembling a river of melodies,
sweet, soft patters of harmonies move together as one.
Mar 30

High School Worries

The people in my life, including myself, have always held me to high expectations.
I can go to college, get a job, start a family!
Or…
Everything could go wrong,
I’ll fail my SAT’s and no college will ever want me.
I will never get a job and have to live on the streets.
That seems more likely and easier than a bachelor's degree.
Wait, what am I even saying?
I can still live my life, even if I don’t get into college.
Millions of people have done it before in the past,
so why can’t I?
That’s it. I’ve decided.
I am going to graduate, top of my class,
with a scholarship to a great college!
Starting right now, I will try my best,
get all my work done, pay attention in class---
And it’s all so hard.
To be honest, I just want to stay home and do nothing all day.
I’ll never get the future I want if I do that.
But working hard is exactly that---hard.
Maybe I’ll just not try anymore,
Mar 30

Seashells

My family had an old tradition of visiting Hampton Beach in New Hampshire at the peak of summer with another family that I grew up with. As a child, this was a day I looked forward to; the long walks on the Boardwalk, the small beaded chokers that I was for some reason obsessed with, the half-built sandcastles, and perhaps the most exciting of all, the seashells we would spend hours wandering the shoreline looking for. It was doing this last activity that was what got me in trouble. When I was around four years old, I was searching for the little colorful husks, completely immersed with my eyes glued to the sand. It was only when I found one and turned to show it to Mom that I realized that I was alone. Alone, as in surrounded by hundreds of strangers and no one I knew in sight. Now, if you have ever been lost as a child, you will agree with me when I say that this is one of the most frightening things that could ever happen to you.
Mar 14

Notice the Blue Bird

I walk silently watching in the rain
that the sewers and drain pipes can barely contain.
A river flows down the cracked pavement street,
just as memories flood me bittersweet.

Memories surface of the gray puddles in Kentucky,
Splashed by my brother, how unlucky.
Grandma was there to offer us towels and fudge,
and Band-Aids for toes stubbed on rocks that never budged.

Droplets patter on my hooded head.
I should have brought an umbrella instead.
My boots swish through the torrent,
with the cold seeping through my coat, abhorrent.

I shiver as I hike up the gradual hill,
jumping across a pool in front of the coffee mill.
Landing, my feet stumble in slow motion,
then I’m sprawled in water cold as an ocean.

My mouth releases a screech.
I hurry to get up, but overreach.
Back I fall into the tiny tide,
and in the water I lose my pride.
Mar 11

Locket

Wandering along the old brick building in the midst of downtown,
I drag my fingers across the rough and weathered clay blocks.
The two tiny legs that are my fingers skip over the breaks,
over the mortar moats that hold the bricks together.
Skip, drag, skip, drag.
And then one of them loosens,
clatters to the pavement with a loud clap that makes me jump.
A rustle of paper, and a much lighter, graceful object drifts down.
It is a yellow, aged note,
so old the paper crinkles when I open it.
And the note, written in loopy, pretty cursive, reads,
"I will always remember you,
even if you are dead or overseas.
The war took you from my arms,
but not from my heart."
Taped hastily on the inside of the note is a small black and white picture,
small enough to be put in a locket.
It is of a man and a woman staring without smiling to the left of the camera.
The man is adorned in military attire,
Mar 10

Monday Morning Mess

            It is a windy September Monday morning; warm enough for me to leave my window open, but cool enough to sleep with a blanket. I open my curtains and notice the layer of dew coating the ground, reflecting the sunlight off and glaring into my eyes.
            I take a deep breath of the early autumn Vermont air and cherish it. These days don’t come around often, the peaceful mornings like this few and far between.
            The floorboards of the stairs creak under my feet as I descend them. I hop down the last few steps and turn around the corner into the kitchen---
            But I stop short as my mind races to understand what exactly I’m seeing.
            The kitchen is a disaster: napkins and towels strewn all around, water overflowing from the sink, the toaster and blender hanging half off the counter haphazardly, chip bags torn open, their contents poured on the floor, creating little mountains of Cheez-its and Goldfish and potato chips.

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