to-do list

this summer,
i'm going to drink sweet tea
until my teeth hurt
and read library books
all day long
losing myself in worlds
not my own.
listen to albums
straight through,
one complete masterpiece.
(important things take time)
paint pictures of places i've been.
think.
write letters
to friends overseas
crafting sentences
that explain what it's like
to wait
to sit alone.

thin spaces

once,
the world
said
come closer

all the
worse
we
listened
and now
we can't
get back
out
again

so much
color
and
curiousity

stirling

we sat
one on each green step
on the door stoop
eating ice cream
scraping carmel off the sides
with small plastic spoons
facing cobbled streets
talking
about sunshine
basking
in the sensation
of simple pleasure

being awake to the world

after sunset, before dark

seasonally

the light lingers longer on the day

gracing us all with minutes

of dusk, and shadowy purples

we haven't seen since last year

walking,

i forget this

and my eyes keep widening

as if that can defeat the darkness

losing track of time

until the street lights

turn on with a buzz

as i pass underneath

friends i haven't seen in a while

and friends i just left

cross through my thoughts

not knowing how they see the spring

as a time of warmth

renewal

just wondering

my boots hit the ground

the heel wearing off

into frayed pieces of plastic

the idle confusion of thoughts

significant enough to keep myself company

yet not enough to distill

into a single, profound poem

petrichor

if i sit still enough
and wait for the silence to approach
i can find the silence isn't still at all
and welcoming it in
i hear ambitious bird calls
trumpeting, forceful and beautiful
and the tentative sound
of rain on leaves

education frustration

it was the same feeling
as before
that one time
i made my english teacher cry
because we weren't treating literature
with the proper respect
and i couldn't sit back
and not defend the beauty
of wilder
and emily webb

so today
i was horrified
as you sliced it open
watching the brutal dissection
red and raw underneath

mystic poetry doesn't need categories.

you were taking apart
something i could never put back together

skye

no sign of life
cold oversized hills
only betrayed by
occasional
boot prints

shades of mauve
shadowed
stalwart, faded trees

melted snows
gusting around
ruins worn and torn
roots and branches
steadily gaining

unaware
muddled
water
patiently carving out stone

here,
mornings come too late
and nights end too soon

on being friends and coming home

i've got so much meanness
and selfishness
and jealousy
it's crowding the air out of my lungs
and the space in my joints
that allows me to bend and stretch
i can't breathe

but to be true
i've got to let go
and realize that i'm okay

it's impossible to link souls
when i've left no space
and i can't let you overtake me either
because i'm still a home
i am a home
a place to sit and stay a while
the door is open to speak
but please
like in any good home
do not shout too much
leave your shoes at the door
i understand weariness
because that's the plague that makes me want to
shut up tight
and try to keep this all to myself

but it's a treasure to let you in
oh weary wanderer
to see what you see
the sights of another world
colors i don't understand
please forgive me
when i forget to pull out my best china
i can't reach it on the top shelf
but i'm getting there

walking home from church

the trees are damp and singing
twisted branches, conversations

i don't notice the rain anymore

the bits of lace flowers
dripping
puddles shiver

we must be cold under our scarves
unaware of the ground reaching up
and the sky curling down
whispers
fallow and gritty

days (incomplete)

morning:
we were all squinting
stretching out
it may have been too much sun

dusk:
presiding like kings and queens
conquering the small clearing
scrounged twigs ablaze

smoke in my eyes

and deep

widening into my lungs

cliffs, precarious

looking out for miles

it's empty

embers fading

it feels like home

night:

climbing back down

thankful i had you next to me

paths in daytime, treacherous 

night, absurd

eyes down to the pool of light ahead

listening for the echoes

after today

so aware of you

i could follow only the sound of your footsteps

your hum

dirt

it's late
and I'm feeling dirty

the kind that should multiply
cigarette stains
scattered across calloused hands
and coffee rings
hardened overnight

but I don't smoke
and my coffeepot has been broken
cheap
as it was

if anything
I've overindulged in m&ms
Pepsi products
and a lack of mobility

I'll just wait for something truly lavish

and I know I've read more books
I just can't remember
maybe it's because they were all smut

there's that one cobweb hanging
dangling from the corner
and I'm too lazy to get it

if I had a kitchen of my own
I'd make sure to put a bench
right down the side
with cushions
some kind of kitschy print
kitsch, kitchen, it makes sense
so I'd have another place to sleep
on nights like this

that one time
I slept on the bench
next to the cracked window
somewhat guiltily
air conditioning running high
but to breathe the grass wind
and watch the moon
captured so bright and incomplete

14 again

i can't help
but listen to the same song on repeat
over and over

it's silly,
but it's beautiful

because that's when i think about
the way he
waits
and how everything he creates
is honest
authentic

and it's a thin thread
from me to him
and i can't pause the song
as much as i can't
pick up the phone
and make that call
or make a move
or any of that
would make this
honest

because
honestly, honesty
would mean it's nothing

i'm not going to make that happen

unseen

breath isn't anything you can see
but in the waters
the spirit across the deep
the waves are the
wind
and we need washing
a chance to come forth dripping
and new

it's crashing and
breaking so
as not to leave anything behind

catching my breath
keeping it
still
because i want to hear
the hum if not the sight
the sound
of air shaking the strings

i want to wait for the dawn

like when my head
was against your back
listening
to your voice
through your backbone
like one long chord
in that moment
listening

i could've left myself behind

you can't spell alone without one

after the show
i'm uncomfortable
perfecting the awkward fidget

pacing, waiting for you to be done
listening for the flush
sounds of you washing up
counting tiles
retying my shoes

i don't like being alone
but if you were gone i could just leave
instead of waiting for your coffee addiction

for a moment in the middle of the set
when the chorus hit its stride
watching the bassist sing the words of his dead friend
(too soon, too soon)
i lost this anxiety
tapping my foot in time to the buzzed,
swaying bodies around me
because i felt part of the collective crowd
if only because i could hear the palpable loneliness
alone as one in the room
content with the contents of our minds

tapping, waiting
frustrated i've lost that melody already
about to go home, take off my shoes
discuss the evening with you
pretending like always
we actually understand one another

aging is gravity

for years

that's been the family vehicle

the only one where everyone fit

it was used when we got it

but still surprising

glancing up

when the ceiling fabric's sagging

pockets of air

blowing

dragging down

like we all do with age

skin that no longer holds tight

hands that simply let go

escape

cracking the pane
letting a gulp of cold air in

i jump out the window
dashing through the yard
over the rusty clothes line
leaving slush footprints behind
muddy boots, thoughts
reaching for the road

more side roads,
less highways

shedding the bulky knit mittens
fingers wiggling in the wind
coat, gone
breathing again

running
running
i'm gone

the neighbors shake heads
visible through their kitchen windows
spying on my sloppy trail
left so you could come too

christmas eve eve

the roads are worst
right as the temperature hits below freezing
one tight long sheet of ice

my head cradled sideways in the seatbelt
watching pricks of freezing rain attach to the windshield
cringing every time the wipers are released
the thin screech of exposed metal on glass
time stalls

just waiting for the precipitation to freeze
all for a snowy christmas
or to get home again
although home is more likely to be found out here
knowing i belong to a place i haven't arrived at yet

headlights reflected in the side mirrors
blinding and frustratingly persistent
i tilt my seat back and close my eyes

over and gone or settle down

prelude:
quiet, old heart
those days are long
stretched thing

settle, mind
the sharpest memories
can prick when you stir them up

verse one:
i can't say it anymore
"everything happens for a reason"
it hasn't taken me long
barely a quarter of a life
(if that)
but i can't see this making sense
even in a great scheme
the wide tapestry stretching across the sky
cannot have so many snags
all of my misplaced stitches

chorus:
sitting on that old piano bench
i came home
no need for words
looking into familiar patterns in
stained glass
casting cares like the lilies

verse two:
a long line of moments
where all i wanted was to be smaller
papers shuffled, looking busy
waiting for someone to arrive
twitching fingers
tapping nervously on coffee cups

chorus:
no worries
i came home

coda:
quiet, you
don't wait
let it out
then let it lie

portland, oregon

a chance to wear my galoshes, daily
i will let my hair get long and ragged
a closet full of dresses

i want time to go to an art gallery
pausing in the silences
before each color
closing my eyes
and drawing in the smell
of rusty people

i have green eyes, mostly
and i want time to stretch
fabrics sliding over my skin
smelling coffee and roses

laying down the knotted hardwood floors
patches of sunlight in my mind

grieving

it's the most difficult in the morning
the moment pulled taut between sleep and wakefulness
that you almost feel him next to you
instead, worn pillows and creviced mattresses

no one to set the cereal bowl out for
decades old yellowed plastic and instant coffee

how to be one
the painful freedom of being able to do--anything
hanging laundry out in 30 degree weather
as if washing and washing clears away the need to think

getting the mail more than a chore
sympathy cards and junk mail to be returned, deceased

when you're out shopping
"he never liked staying out this long"
exploring the simple joys you haven't been afforded lately
it's beautiful
to see you smile when you try on that horrid plaid jacket
you look beautiful
finding something new to do all over again