My friend remembers the name
of a show I mentioned to her in passing
two weeks ago.
I told her I loved it
and she remembered
its name.

My brother texts me 
to ask if I’ve made any progress
with the cute guy who works
at the ice cream shop down the street.
I have not–he’s almost left my mind by now,
but my brother remembers.

Little moments
that become grand gestures.
Sentences turned into pages
just to say
“something about you is enough
to keep you in my mind.”

What a beautiful thing,
to be loved.
What a rarer one
to be known.

With teeth gritted 
head still pounding 
weight of the world 
pressed heavier today 
I know that no matter 
what happened today
how rough our jobs
come nightfall’s end 
your legs will meet mine
beneath our favorite linens 
the world will fall away 
peace will come 
my glimmer in the darkness 

there’s something 
I could write about
by spending the day
painting an old farmhouse
that overlooks a pond
with spiny softshell turtles
who swim away unafraid
while peacocks call out
in that exotic noise
from across a deep river

maybe there’s something
on how the sky looked
with white and dark clouds
in the shifting light
a place where some 
future person will sit
where I spent hours
making sure 
to follow the grain
ensuring that the banister
looks aesthetically pleasing
to someone 
that won’t 
give it a second glance

but this tank is empty
and there’s more painting
to be done

The brindle sniffed the entire story of the old woman next to him.

avocado BLT with extra aioli
on a toasted croissant
breakfast at Nico’s Café’
from my table, a perfect view
of Kroger, a dreaded nightmare
aisles of continuous choices
I’d pay someone to shop for me,
probably wouldn’t suit me
an old man sits down with
his back to me blocking
my view /  what giant ears
reminds me of a Disney
character  /  a gust of wind
might do the trick  /  how I’d like
to soar somewhere anywhere
breakfast is good  /  what
was I thinking about?         

Come here she said, let me show you something.  Withdrew
a charm from her treasure box.   This was my mother’s
from before she died.  She closed the lid, her eyes said No Questions.
Would we know each other by now if I had gambled?

I run my finger across the mouth of an empty bowl.
Lick at the last of the love I’ve been saving.
The sweet forgiveness, the salt crunch
of chosenhood, hot breath on necks,
There’s nothing left of it.

I’m meticulous in my addiction,
There’s residue on the rims to chew, I’m busy.
Solitude shines at me like a clean glass.
Smiles: “Are you done yet?”
I’m not asking to be fed anymore.

Breakfast in bed can’t be begged.
Outside the rain plays a lesson about how to
still pour naturally. Everything is fast food.
Dashing and knocking feverishly at doors,
Just to ask strangers if my face looks familiar.

What’s for dinner? Can I come in to pretend
Your arms are home, that this isn’t a rental?

What’s it like for all the faucets to work?
To be so full you throw up, sick to your gut with love.

I can hear a cat mewling, looking for life but finding only darkness.
Deep, muffled voices argue in someone else’s driveway.  
An infant howls.  My father snores.
A train barrels forth on the tracks across town, mindless of the hour.  
Is that a car alarm or the sirens from my nightmares?  
Either way, someone should turn it off.

My home creaks with the hissing 
wind as if it, too, is outstretching its tired
arms to the waning moon before settling
into bed to listen to the nighttime ambience.

I  know you didn’t do it for me.

You don’t  even know me and

we may never meet.

But thank you.

I am grateful to be

seven days closer

to being free from this pain.

I am grateful to be spared

an entire extra week of agony.

HIPPA will not allow me

to ever know enough about you

to thank you personally.

So I thank you in this poem.

I thank you in my heart.

I can think of many horrible reasons you

may have had to cancel.

I hope none of them are true.

I hope instead

for the improbable,

that you were

miraculously healed

as I wish to be

myself.

In exchange for your

coincidental kindness,

I gave you this blessing:

May you have what you need.

May you too receive relief

when you need it.

I can not repay you myself.

So I ask the Universe

to bring you

some equal joy.

Inside the trick-or-treat bag
from under the bed
are two hard Dots,
one orange, one green,
a Hershey’s kiss, minus the foil,
half a circus peanut,
and a stick of Juicy Fruit gum,
all sprinkled lightly
with Pixie Stix dust.
the sweet, stale finale
of Halloween,
snack of last resort