by

poetry: august 25th

plucking piano keys, i picture
you, sitting on my couch.
purple sweater, chocolate cake.
your laugh, like rumbling joy,
lives in my walls.
today marks the day we said goodbye.
years ago, holding hands until cold.
i play the only song i know:
Jolene, about being chosen.
you loved Dolly.
both hard workers—
rhinestone and cleaning gloves.
she left us today, too,
splitting my grief.
out of tune, i sing,
your beauty is beyond compare.
gathering kindness into notes,
remembering.
developed.
your smile is like a breath of spring.
capture. photos. frame.
grit.
moving across the room, 
i gather my camera.
holding it with two hands.
my happiness depends on
what i do next.

Continue reading →
by

poetry: tell me something

i would sniff strawberry shortcake’s 
hair in my dark closet when sad. 
baby’s first dopamine hit. later
i’d imagine someone wanting to
sniff me. being comfort sounded
right. wooden bowl of oatmeal.
knitted blanket tucked around
shoulders. pile of old books.
motherhood touched this. briefly.
rock. sing. cuddle. being enough
for a time. mother’s first dopamine
hit. now, comfort is fog blowing
in and out. i sniff strawberries
but only worry they will spoil
early. too soft. wasteful. words
don’t chase me. slower. slower.
s l o w e r. hide under blanket 
with phone. tell me something.
dopamine hit me. hit me. hip
hurts me. comfort turns sour.
sniff something, anything. no,
call me comfort. call me. me.

Continue reading →