Writing

when i was thirteen i held a wrapper in my hand 
covered in red white and blue lettering 
a tribute to the land you once loved dearly 

What inherent flaw?

what celestial wrong?

missing ingredient?

failed experiment?

am I?

how am I so unlovable,

that no one comes to hold,

my sorry hand? 

Graham:

You are fragile like a wine glass,

when you fall to the floor and shatter into a million pieces,

people will still walk on you,

they will cut their feet and blame you for it,

and although my feet are bleeding,

I went to work the day after they announced it. I stocked the shelves and listened to the radio from the speakers in the warehouse ceilings. Cars were piling up at the exits, trying to get out of town.

It's hard

to put yourself out there,

bear, exposed;

it's scary to take off your coat,

remove the mat,

and hang on limb over the edge of a cliff,

Will I fall?

Will the branch break?