i need you 
to be something 
you’re not 

i need you 
to check 
off all the boxes 
in my head 

i need you 
to dot the i’s 

and cross 
the t’s 

of my dreams 

Clean the feeder
Mix the formula 
  1 part pure cane sugar
  4 parts filtered water
pour it in
hang it up
fill ant moat with water

I saw my first hummers
in early April
Travelers – thin and skiddish 
took a quick sip, then headed out

It is now time for the regulars
the locals
who build nests
raise young

They  waste valuable energy 
fighting complex aerial battles
for a spot to feed
even though there is another 
feeder just a few feet away

I feel you fading

Good morning texts that are sent at noon

I feel you fading

I am always the first to say I love you

I feel you fading

No longer holding me at night

I feel you fading

How much longer must I fight?

to be ____ is to be devastated
by family
and lovers
and on the rare occasion
well meaning friends.

to be devastated is feeling
safe until a rug is
pulled away with a flourish
that looks like care

to feel safe is an illusion
concocted by thoughts
like;
they are the exception
everyone else thinks this, but
surely they don’t
until you learn they do
and always have

an illusion is thinking you
could ever be anything but
the ____ friend.
Stay in your ___ box
don’t come out ‘til you’re better

a wedding party thunders above
while the piano man plays 
atop the sound gliding like
a boat across a glass flat lake
said he studied for only a year

a woman and the bartender 
struggle with digital wallets
swearing she wants to leave a tip
for all the wine she’s been drinking

behind, a man speaks loudly
with the bravado of someone afraid
that if they go quiet 
they’ll be forgotten

we’re given a tour of the kitchen
drinks in hand 
as we pick out what we want 
for snacks
eating like royalty 
of fruits, meats, and cheeses

a single night
we are not Mom and Dad
not a ride to the next concert
not a shoe tie and a lost sock
not the heartbreak of seeing them
grown and helpless with the way
things are turning sour

for a single night
the world is not ending
our identities twirl and mingle
collect into an
Old Fashioned and a Lemon Drop

that night
we owned the place
and I’m not sorry

Starla steers my hand to her belly, 
her ten-and-two paws pressing palm to soft fur
her rich motor, winding up through 
loose tendons and tight bones
her purr and my pulse, the unit measures of
a roadmap guiding me 
back&back&back
home

My joy
My interest
My comfort
Sometimes, my weapon of choice

To my five-year old self

Two Ps in Apple
Two Ms in Pomme
You know you’ll
crack the code
one day

or, Sometimes I Need to Remember

When I held them in the infinite
dark of my body,
dreams and expectations and sacred
family traditions filled
every thought, every plan. 

And then, when every dream and plan
fell through my fingers and broke
into pieces just large enough to dare
mending, I gave up trying –
not because they were broke, but because I
was too frustrated to force pieces
to fit where they don’t belong. 

So, I reshaped and reframed, sanded rough 
corners, and removed what didn’t work for us.
I gave up trying to be normal and dreamed
new dreams and planned new plans,
fit us all back together and sealed
the cracks with world-shattering smiles
and happy, flappy hands. 

I am not forged in fire, or purified
like some precious metal. I was made
in specialized pediatric clinics
and federal agencies and through stacks
of paperwork. I cut my teeth
in IEP meetings and doctors’ offices,
and then sharpened those teeth 
on calls with insurance agents. 

I got what they needed. 
Every single time. 
I would not

bet against me.