Rusty Poem

It’s been a while since I wrote.
It’s been a while since I felt safe in this body,
and curled into my thoughts for a rest,
without learning each breath by rote.

It’s been a month since Hell grabbed me by the ankle.
I was laid out on a hospital table.
When the man asked me what happened I couldn’t recall,
but my body tells the tale when it’s able.

This body shows the story I wrote.
I did it to myself. I put the pen to skin and it broke;
The Hell, I wrote into my fable.

to process

to process the grief
sometimes i need to let my fingers
my eyes
do the talking, instead of my mouth
which fumbles for vocabulary and spills
out something i’m still not sure about

i need to water myself like a jade plant
and perk up, greener than before

i need to hold myself tightly
and never let go, trusting
that i will always be here


cast out
like a litter of unwanted
kittens in cardboard
shivering, drenched

mewling from tiny
faces, pink noses scrunch
in effort at the clawing
fruitless on the walls

rain pounding their
delicate ears, they huddle
together as it
becomes dark, quaking
their mother

they claw through me
forcing me to my knees
drawing sobs from deep
in my chest
i miss
my mother

Thinking about it

I am thinking I might call you up
and propose we spend the night

entwined in a tired sticky pile
as the crickets sing outside

I am thinking I might drive
along the freeway and into the stars

to the night diner where we split
milk and cookies and I won’t feel bad

about an evening of extravagance
and spontaneous kisses

on my cheek, my eyelids, my temple
and sleep-heavy sighs in the dark heat

I am thinking tonight or any night
my heart swells like this with loneliness


Your final minutes,
and I wasn’t there
to rub your back
and stroke your hair.

I miss your voice,
its gentle lilt,
I miss the world
that we built.

Where are you, love?
I am right here.
I hope at the end
you felt no fear.

Come find me, love,
in my dreams tonight.
I’ll breathe your name
’til morning light.

I’ll trace your name
in foggy breath
on windowpanes
’til nothing’s left.

Your final minutes,
and I wasn’t there.
I wish you’d known
how much I care.

When you go to the forest



When you go to the forest
I hang my head in my hands
and cry for the oceans between us

When you go to the forest
I brush my fingertips
against the lips you never kissed

When you go to the forest
the hawks start circling
and I begin my prayers

When you go to the forest
I will fasten the golden braid
around my neck like an albatross

When you go to the forest
my hands shake with all
the things they might have changed