Reeking of chemicals and sweat
disatisfaction boils within me

No way up where I stand
but no energy to move my feet

I’ll just hustle harder
stumble out of class 
after the sun sets.

surly the space between 
both ends of the candle
goes on forever.

I find myself in want.

Want for words that aren’t angry,
that don’t drip poison through my
twisted lips.

Want for thoughts that produce
change, that don’t just steep in 
viscous discontent.

Want for the worlds beauty
to rest in my eyes, lounging on
my tired corneas.

I feel greedy to want these wants,
when there are so many in need.

after the catastrophic shifts
(moving out, custody schedules, separate everything)
come the tiny losses
the ones you didn’t anticipate
the ones that continue to chip away at the lacquer of the old life
and complete its transformation.

my newly-8 year old high-fived me goodbye after his birthday party
ran into the backyard that is no longer mine with his brother
smiling and yelling, “Bye, Mom!”
and I, a guest, turned up the block to walk home alone
heavy-heartedly grateful that this is normal for him
knowing it never will be for me.

6/10/26

In shadows deep, where whispers dwell,
the creek winds on, an ancient spell.
With murmurs soft, like secrets shared,
it cradles sort, long lost and bared.
Beneath the boughs, where silence clings,
mushrooms rise with ghostly wings.
Pale sentinels in dampened night,
they drink the moon’s forgotten light.
A twisted root, a gnarled tree,
hold memories of what used to be;
the water flows with stories grim,
of lovers lost on a moonlight whim.
Their shadows dance in twilight’s grasp
as nature’s hands entwine and clasp.
So wander here, where shadows play,
by creeks that sigh at the close of day;
embrace the dark, the secrets kept,
in nature’s arms, where dreams have wept. 

Come, hummingbird, come!
Feeder brimming with nectar!
Did we miss our chance?

Tonight is quiet with no cicadas singing,

no calls of the whippoorwill. But the woods

are alight with fireflies blinking on, then off,

embracing the air with a magic all their own.

I loved the stately redwoods and tangy smell

of oaks where I came from, but never knew

the ephemeral nature of trees that lose their leaves,

transforming their full regalia into ghostly forms

of gray that open the ground to the whims of air

and snow, while the abundance of living things take

furlough before the flourish of spring jolts them

into another outburst of burgeoning growth.

The moody disposition of water scouring

the creek bed came as a complete surprise.

Sometimes it moves fast, sometimes slow,

Relentless as it grinds ancient rock into sand

While the majesty of lightning criss-crosses the sky

followed by boom, crack and rumble to echo

down the hollows and shake the hills, extolling

the rhapsody and wonder of this place.

we’ve made our mistakes
loved who we’ve loved
bettered our lives
where and when we could
believe this is what we’re here for

but our stories are ending
notions rupturing
people dying
our stories unravelling
in ways we couldn’t have wanted and didn’t expect

peace become palliative
certainty uncertain
lost we live on
with the ones we still have
struggling to accept the moral arcs of our lives are concluding

some part of grief is shame
we fail the ones we love
lose control of the past
wonder at some level if everything was probably our fault all along

this is story of grief we want
we were whole and at peace
a week or two ago
until we were abruptly broken
and now we pull ourselves together and make amends with our enemy time

so we make new mistakes
love who we love
better our lives
where and when we can
and believe this is what we’re here for

How I have longed to be fair and full of love

So much so that the air around me would be light

Full of heaven’s proper glow

A brightness and airy quality of my spirit and nature

That the love and admiration of my fellows

Would be pure delight, to be honored with an integrity I am not at all familiar

To be known of a gentle heart, sparkling eyes, and tenderness

To be likened to Victor’s Elizabeth

Tender, mild, and meek

Though I was born into a resilient harshness

A lung filled cry upon those surrounding me

A gentleness that only arrives in chest aching cries

Pleading for sympathy and empathy

Aggressive they claim me to be

Though this is not the stirrings of my heart

I know September well this year

Drinking syrup – lips stained red

And sticky from s’mores

Dancing in 91 degrees

Like fools

Happiness buzzes around me like flies

I feel it in my fingertips

We’re making a scene

Just like we always do

But I don’t notice the stares

All I feel

Is love for you