Words will never be
as poetic, or romantic,
as the subtle curves
of the human body.

Lyrics will never grasp
the forehead wrinkles,
the hair on your toes,
or the sweat on your chest.

“I love you” is an easy,
and underwhelming, way
to express the feelings
of the insides of this body.


farewell, Oxford comma

I took off my sweater,
took two steps into the sun,
took a look at the sky,
took a minute to blink the brightness away,
took awhile to readjust my eyes,
took two steps back into the shade
and put my sweater back on.

on second thought

This is the first line,
where I say the sun has risen
in its usual place
at its usual time.

This is the fifth line,
where I drink my afternoon coffee
and my sleepy eyes
know just where to hide.

This is the ninth line,
where I’ll let you know just this once
that sometimes I miss–
well, never mind.


Trees don’t know when someone is crying.  They can’t tell if someone is hurting.  They can’t hear a girl’s sobs, they can’t feel her leaning against their trunks for support, and they definitely do not care if she ever feels better.

And still, they never leave.  Yes, this is because they are rooted firmly and most permanently into the hardened winter ground.  But still, they never leave.  So neither does she.

Unfailingly, she returns to the same covered part in the dense forest, to move from tree to tree and cry.  Simply, cry.

You would think that the trees would have grown accustomed to seeing her here, that they would begin to expect to see her walking in from the path that leads people away in a different direction.  But trees don’t remember, and they certainly don’t remember her.

Her cries are soft and pitiful, honest and beautiful.  Loud enough to draw attention from the nearest birds, but not harsh enough to make them fly away.

She cries for an hour at least, walking on top of the pine needles and broken twigs that mirror her broken spirit.  How sad can such a young girl be?

The smallest tree reaches out a low branch to her and offers a seat besides the wet earth.  The girl accepts, but only rests her tiny, folded arms on the wood.  Single tears fall at first, followed by drops that are much bigger and much sadder than the rain that slips away from heavy clouds.

She does not wipe them away, and the trees watch as she walks to another tree, one that has been carved in by others who have long ago forgotten about the life they once had.

The trees aren’t really watching, of course.  They are just silently growing and weathering the wind and rain.  Dying.

They will last, though.  They will last long enough for the girl to stop crying, until she is ready to wipe her face with a sleeve that is so wet and carrying so many tears already.  They will last, and they will wait.  She is never alone, because they are always waiting.

come back to me

as your eyes grow dim
with the ages of years
and you have to pull back
to see me clearly

you’ll turn around
and forget your home
but please,
come back to me
see yourself in me
we can spare the niceties

of remembering what used to be
just please
come back to me

window seating

The lowest feeling is when you realize
your summers of love
were nothing but
too much booze and dirty water in the bay
climbing three flights of stairs, forgetting your way
unshaven legs and watery eyes
and those nights I cried,

I pulled my earrings out
to hear you complain about
all the things you missed back home
and here in maryland you’re all alone
since he passed away

since he passed away
so still we lay.

autumn came
and I’m not sure where to place
the blame, on how I forgot your face,
those eyes,
the richness of a million skies
your laugh-
which I swear starts in your fists
and curves around those wrists
and slowly enters my ears
where I can only hear
that season I miss.