Crows come every year to eat
walnuts at the end of our driveway.
Some mornings, they mingle
with squirrels sharing a common purpose
munching beneath the trees before sun
reaches its peak, dew still clinging
to weeds in cascading jewels,
an occasional caw or chitter to dispute
over territory, eventually ending
with whooshing wings and high tails,
peace scattered into the trees and sky.
Endlessness is what I fear.
Eternity expanding beyond my comprehension.
An ocean with no life raft.
I dream in circles and cycles that lead nowhere.
I fear madness too.
My bipolar father
showing us the nonsensical
and indecipherable
scavenger hunt map
he was so proud of,
my own family history
and the possibility
that someday
I may be
trapped in a surreal state
of unreality,
speaking a language no one else can decipher,
wandering
the untrustworthy halls of my own mind
forever.
I forgot about the June the 5th
And I forgot to write a poem
I’m writing this on June the 6th
Because now June the 5th is gone
I can’t get back the day I missed
That isn’t at all how it works
Missing days just happens though
One of life’s little quirks
I think because I remember writing about them last June,
this week I spied the collection of catbirds
seemingly shadowing me
again.
But this year I did some research.
It turns out that June is a lively time for catbirds,
migrating back to familiar homes, busily caring for new hatchlings, hunting insects, together with their mates of the season.
Last June I waxed poetic (literally),
thinking these bird sightings were a sign meant for me:
a message about finding one’s voice
at a time when the fracturing of my former life
had led me to the shady thickets of my soul
in a pleading search
for omens.
But the catbirds were just doing their catbird thing
and I was making my own way through another season
alone.
How foolish to believe
that nature would notice my miniscule human struggle
in the midst of its intricate, perfectly designed agenda.
6/6/26
is everywhere and easy
to give into. Giving up feels
simple, like sliding under
an unstoppable wave
letting that last breathe go.
Hope is harder. You must
believe in the beauty
of sunrise and the smell
of fresh baked bread and
strawberries at the farmers
market that taste like redemption.
That the tromp of feet in the streets
the chanting voices, the signs made
with crayons and colored markers
mean this is not over. We will not
accept less than what we deserve.
Some blue moment in the day,
sky unbreakably clear and
mind cloudy, rain glittering across
an otherwise unbothered face
—let it blow over, let it pass
into tomorrow, its thunder
rippling the silence gray.
Let it not spoil all this sunshine
bottled in the black of my eyes,
where it sits—“Gold,” “Autumn,”
“Copper,” “Lemon”—on heavy shelves,
and, bedded in my heart, may
the dandelions, daises, violets and
bloodroot forgive my knowing
they are growing thirsty
when is nostalgia not nostalgia
is it outside in the mosquito’d night,
the same daddy daughter night patio
at the same fast food place
or crossing the creek back home
maybe the tabel where we’ve built, what
like twenty, a few more, gingerbread houses
the church of mine, your, her baptism
the old computer we just threw out,
you know the one with Diablo, original
maybe it’s all that
or maybe it’s just when we miss
the feelings
then recover them behind
smiles
I am utterly terrified of cicadas.
Like embarassingly, paralyzingly afraid of cicadas.
You remembered how I reacted to seeing them last summer, so you threw your head back and laughed when I confessed my gratitude for the cicadas being underground this year.
Today we didn’t have to worry about them when we parked on gravel and stepped out into grass to walk until our feet ached despite our shoes.
Sweat ran down my back from the early afternoon heat but I would’ve gone on just to keep laughing with you.
I could talk with you until the cicadas sing again (and then some).
I’m not addicted
I swear it
I’m passing all my classes with flying colors
I swear it
I’m fine
I haven’t had a bad day in like 2 months
I’ll be fine
I swear
I’ll get out of bed today
Trust me
I’ll eat more than one meal today
Trust me
I’ll move from this spot
Where I lay and I rot
Trust me
Just give me five minutes and I’ll be okay again
Trust…
I think I’ll be okay
I promise I won’t sit here and spiral down the endless rabbit hole that my brain creates for me whenever it pleases
Just give me a bit
I don’t need help
I’ll pull myself out
I swear
