Solstice Cinquain
Tonight’s
light lingers late
as summer heat takes hold.
Fireflies remind me of my lost
best friend.
Tonight’s
light lingers late
as summer heat takes hold.
Fireflies remind me of my lost
best friend.
we throw darts in the brewery
seeking specific numbers
it’s a game, of course
just as we play in life
trying to make our points
stick
and count for
something
Where have you gone, sweet timothy
that used to lay itself low on the old roadside?
And where did you take
the black-eyed susans and their pretty dresses?
The old blue car would have been covered up
by the length of you both along those hedgerows.
We passed by by your eyes many times–
sweet and unseeing what was to come.
We just took the old blue car to the old smoke town,
ground ourselves against each other,
blunt little knives–the dull kin
of threshing men.
He still calls your name, sweet timothy,
black-eyed susan on the old roadside.
Out by the road now, new growth spreads
and someone else calls their name now:
fescue and wild onion, buttercup and thyme.
O my love, you were sincere.
O my love, I was smitten.
And somehow we were gone
And somehow we were gone.
Defined by those things
we never meant to say
Before they were said.
I learned about love, sex, and relationships from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys…
Infinity
I know you are but what I am?
Who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys who learned from boys…
It’s the dream of every ellipis to one day have something to say.
Screech, my love. Absolutely howl. Wake the dead with your hurrays, laugh until the sun sets. Let other’s fret over quiet, while we live in the noise.
my breasts–obsolete and no longer milk-heavy–
held no ache to soothe him new-born,
not my child. it was my arms that knew
him and the ways we carry each other–
bits of me in him who began in me
as an egg safeguarded in his mother’s womb
while within my own, which bore her and another–
the weight of toting two wearing down
my hip balls into dried flaking bone–
replaced since but stiff these days from his weight–
nearly too heavy to scoop up with one arm,
shoulder grinding to lift him to cling to an alloyed hip
how long could I carry him? how many miles?
through an apocalypse–
a crumbling cyborg holding the future,
trodding through ash toward someplace he could name home
I always hate being sick,
I’m sure everyone does,
But to lay around all day
My body shaking
My head pounding
Even though I know I need to rest
I feel like I’m wasting a day
One precious day of my life
To do nothing
No matter how many times
I tell myself to take it easy
I just lay here and think and stress
Not able to fall asleep when I need it most
I wonder if other people feel this way
Or if they just enjoy the day off
