Poem

by

poetry: night sky

some say we return to stars
light returning to source
but I won’t say it to you
as your child left too soon

instead I’ll focus on moonlight
grief rippling across the land
a sliver of silver beside Venus
how small words feel now

once he pulled my giggly son
across a green lawn over and over
“you can stop anytime,” I said
he shrugged, “but he’s so happy”

some say we will meet again
across the rainbow bridge
but I won’t say it to you
as your boy left too soon

*Dedicated to my aunty Nel and my cousin Josh. I wish I could be there today to celebrate his life with you. He will be greatly missed. I love you all.

by

Rainy Day in America


wetwalking she crept
into darkened oldwoods
bumblebush wept
missing sweetgoods

teardropleaves watch
fairies hiddenbreath wish
forgivenot bitter scotch
weave hopeful freshstitch

sisterthorns together cry
tornfists stitched anew
silkhands won’t comply
our earthbodies stay true

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  • As always, all photos were taken by me with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.

by

poetry: night drive

am i road splitting two dry fields. crawling
toward certain death. unnatural
instincts. unknown breath. furry-mouthed 
bloodied brethren. witness destruction
inside looking outside. who feels
what. ask the real questions. dare me.

i am mother holding. hands clenched
wheel turning. stop music. folding. heart
races. breath lost. feelings aren’t 
truth. outside looking inside. where
did you go. still here. rearview mirror
sees wind. bright eyes. keep asking.

by

poetry: knock, knock

Let’s pretend you are a door and I slam you hard. You rock in your frame briefly and wonder why I’m so mad. You don’t say anything though, because you are a door. I wash you with a soft pink cloth the next day until you shine. I tell you I love you and I’ll slam you again. You forgive me because you are a door.

Let’s pretend I’m a door and you always walk through me. I try to look nice but my wood is splintering and my handle is loose. You don’t notice though, because I’m a door. It’s not until you get a splinter from my wood you see me. You tell everyone to look at how broken I am. I say nothing because I’m a door.

Let’s pretend two doors meet each other in a long hallway. Just a couple of doors out for a walk. “You look broken,” the polished door says. “You do too,” the broken door says. They lean against each other saying nothing else, because they are doors.

by

poetry: tar

no experience fighting
speaking my words
changing your mind
I throw black tar at you
hoping it sticks
until it does

vomiting old wounds
without my mask
there’s nothing left
but burning guts
destruction looks ugly
and so do I

you run from me
now a villainous fool
as I cover myself
folding up again
swallowing my poison
with a glass of wine