
first day of school today
my nephew wore a soft hoodie
he hugged me near white roses
while my old friend sang
and played a blue guitar
i stood here before
and before
but i’m not the same

first day of school today
my nephew wore a soft hoodie
he hugged me near white roses
while my old friend sang
and played a blue guitar
i stood here before
and before
but i’m not the same

4/30
time isn’t linear at all. broken
hearts know this truth. concentric
circles might be closer. i drive
into the rice fields to see myself
riding bareback, kicking up dirt
into the water. cranes take flight
scared by hoofbeats and hollering—
‘your eyes can be so cruel,
just as i can be so cruel.’ vultures
watch me traveltime, hissing
‘you don’t belong here anymore.’
i know. circling, i turn back.



More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache

within this wild cacophony of silence
sit the words we don’t say anymore
scattered wispy threads of dead conversations
tucked into seat cushions and under rugs
watching with its tranquil virescent leaves
serenely placed on a lacy white doily
the tenacious fuzzy buds burst forth
to dance and sway as vermillion dolphins
“look at that,” I half-whisper
glowing screen still cradled in my palm
your tired eyes sweep the room
smiling when you see the fresh blooms
are you remembering roaring ocean waves?
swigging rum under the starry night sky?
black stone beaches, curvy thin roads?
slippery volcano hikes amongst the misty clouds?
I’m too afraid to ask anymore
with the ghosts of words dancing about
so instead I silently smile back
staring at the plant by the window