another message
without
a subject line
a flat assumption
that you are
owed my time
and a reminder
what’s mine is yours
but mine ain’t mine.
no matter
what i’ve said
or redefined
about changing our
relationship
for the thousandth time
you hear
your own voice only
saying ‘like this, is just fine.’
poetry
omissions
the story refolded into straight lines molded around better times and even though we know better this letter won't fit in the mail unless we admit that most of it never happened. funny that as we grapple with constant edits wonder who said it one truth becomes true even though both of us have tried to say it better no one ever stays for all of the credits.
job hazards
Post-its are squirrelled in every pants pocket
HB pencils leave jet streamed lines on my shirt like skyrockets
My fave marker I mark with leaks, squeaks, and runs
The pen I just lost will be found just after I start a new one
Whiteboards are stained with all my best lessons
Wifi could be back on in 10, 20, or 30 minutes I’m guessing
Where are my keys? I swear they were right here in my classroom
Ah shit they’re at home, in the upstairs bathroom
What’s that in my cup? Not sure what I’m drinking
It’s probably coffee from last week I’m thinking
My back and my feet and my gut are starting to ache
Should be fine though, if I can get a quick toilet break
I need to check voicemail but don’t want to take that chance
Cause that questionable coffee makes me think I might crap my pants.
summer and snow
I set fire to a poem, red sparks rise and roll into the sky, cooling the further they fly from my hand. Embers tumble awkwardly, left then right, no longer my proxy, like passengers on the night breeze. Losing their crispness, the colour difference between them and the stars- actual balls of fire- confuses me. Moments from pages, from life, drift down like summer snow and I am compelled to accept the ironic and paradoxical. I released them before their flame could consume me. Yet, I expect to feel some of their warmth as they come to ground. And when one hand can easily wipe the charcoal smears from the other- all the permanence that those words once served, once held, is gone.
can’t stop, even for one second
~for karen
this heart,
skipping rocks
with ease downstream,
constructing beats knowing
so little of the silly hopscotch of
the world, just the constant
push on its insides. no
wonder it spends
hour upon
hour pressing back.
with small miraculous feats-
one thought, one pump at a
time- all lines, blue, red, wish filled,
and fine- tell so many simple
stories on the skin
in sighs.
with a sure flow
so thick there’s really
little doubt for whom these
bellows toll. from where you perch,
how does it sound though? what
keys have you found? and
what traps have
you wrapped
around my soul?
at first I thought you
were a thief. oh this heart,
my gold, my light I thought you
stole it, instead you moved
in and built a life-
not soft or hard,
but just right.
you don’t say?
The silence,
deep and rising-
“I want.”
“I need.”
“I think.”
Surprisingly,
was never said.
“You should.”
“We should.”
“They should.”
Disguised us
instead.
The moment
begged for
more
but all
that we could
say
for sure
was that
we didn’t
know
more than
we knew.
I stewed.
Withdrew.
Eschewed
instead
of grew.
Became a
ghost.
Instead
of quiet
attacks
it
would have
been better
to
mark my
path with
many tracks;
leave fear,
carry facts;
remembering
that we can
be beautiful
and we can
be useful
and we can
choose words,
while we
say nothing,
that might
achieve
both.
words keep wolves at bay 