i was in a chess club in 2nd grade
but my opponent doesn’t know that
and he doesn’t know that
my memory is poor due to
blockage or illness
the pair an ailment of my mind
a situation that i wish
i could control
we sit across the board from each other
each desperate to gain
each desperate to win
one of us knowing some
and one of us knowing nothing
and now i sit back
deciding my next move
wondering if it’ll be my last
Blushed fingertips,
capped by streaking
ivory ribbons and
rosy Roman arches,
steady themselves
against a lined thenar.
The arches upend,
fingers unfold like
a great drawbridge,
baring the creases
of a warm palm
bearing a crinkling,
shining dollop of
sweet toffee candy.
“It’s hit or miss,” I say in a meeting about something that always turns out to be nothing
colleagues cluck about the enormity of nothing that they
beat, press, and mold into something that remains heaps of nothing
I tune out.
my mind wanders aimlessly unti it lands on a scene with a sunny day
I hop into my car and drive until
the buildings turn to trees —
that turn to mountains–
that turn to hills–
that turn back to trees that turn to farms that flank single-lane roads that kick up dust that fills my rearview mirror
a memory of you will jump into the street like a child chasing a bouncing red ball
I don’t have enough time to react as I cross abandoned railroad tracks (or so I thought)
the white bars with flashing lights descend
grief hits harder than a freight train accelerating to full speed
paralysis locks my bones, clenches my joints, and zips my mouth shut
I close my eyes,
brace for impact
cut the film of my life flickering in my mind
a gentle voice jolts me from the projection room– “It’s hit or miss, right?”
“Right…”
or something that I pretend is nothing, which hits harder than expected
it’s you I miss.
I dont fish well
I cast a heart strung line
Where I think she may be swimming
Near some old stump
A downed log
Where local birds perch
Hoping to pluck a passerby
to take home
But I send my line
With good intentions
And when my line jigs
I reel you in
Anticipating a kodak moment
I lift you up
Only to find
My hook is covered in muck
I’m left standing
Alone
On the water’s edge
I wonder…
Where did all the good fish go?
Sharp shin hawk
flails
above the soybean field,
as if in a
panic,
looks like it could,
in mid air,
drown, spiral
to ground.
It flutters in
erratic hover.
Is this how a hawk
learns to fly?
A hatchling
fumbling its first try?
But wait,
I stand corrected.
Suddenly it rights itself,
catches the wave on which
it must have waited,
wind surfer.
I’ve never seen
this sky, where
a bird can freeze.
Extend it’s wings
and remain
motion-
less,
surreal, stuck
against the blue.
An aerodynamic
witch, a glitch
of physics.
Strikes its pose.
For thirty glorious
seconds holds.
If only I
could do
it, too.
happy pride month: a poem
my grandmother noticed the tattooed cross on my ring finger
has changed to a dagger
i diplomatically responded that i
“have chosen to step away from the church”
a phrase i have practiced over and over again
i can say it without feeling anything at this point
she disapproved of this decision.
i could see it in her face.
but what she doesn’t know that it wasn’t my choice to leave.
that i am something that leaves a bad taste in most christian’s mouths.
that i wasn’t safe there.
in her mind
i’m just a silly college girl that doesn’t know what i’m doing.
not someone who has seen more discrimination than she would understand.
and it isn’t fair.
but
who decides what’s fair?
