“Close your eyes and
think of your happy place.”

Mine ripples with the hush of oars,
where the boathouse leans
like it remembers me.

 I used to skip stones off the dock
as if they’d bounce forever.
I waterskied past laughter,
played croquet with no rules,
listened across the lake
to music, classic rock.

 And when I saw it again—
my heart tugged,
trying to pull me
back home.

 But time drifted faster
than I could paddle.
Now, the porch belongs
to other chairs,
the lake mirrors other faces.

And though memory lets me visit—
it’s no longer mine to go.

Remember when love was urgent,
the thought of it, the rush—
your body against another’s,
the tingle that ran along the curve
of a question awaiting an answer
that weighed as if it were too much
for anyone to hold, let alone you
and your young, spotless, meandering
mind and its stubborn surety of destiny,
of ever afters as clear as glass shoes
and dances at midnight and no chores
at the end of a long day, how could there be
an end to this high of a roller coaster,
the sky ahead and above and below
all tumbled inside your heart—how long
can forever stretch to fill an instant 
you wonder, living inside tomorrow
as if today were a memory, a petal
pulled from the wheel of a flower,
each velvet, withered thread 
weaving possibility.

Keep your eye on the brass ring
as carousel horses gallop
past it one more time
reaching for that cool metal
as it brushes the tip of your finger.

Under the striped canopy,
cirque du soleil spinning on silk.
Forget the ring. It’s only brass.
Get it together, girl, go for the gold
and slap a star on a photo finish.

A tree
With beautiful, green leaves
Swaying
In a warm summer breeze
Limbs outstretched
Reaching for the clear, blue sky
I’m happy 

The breeze turns cooler
And my beautiful, green leaves
Show their true colors
Vibrant reds
Oranges and yellows 
Paint the landscape 
I’m proud

The breeze turns cold
My beautiful leaves turn brown
And fall one by one
To the cold ground
Bare limbs appear as a skeleton
Against blue sky
I’m sad

weeks of planning 
drawing out a pot 
with theoretical layers 
of earth and gravel 
took notes on 
lightning and temperature
worried over the money spent 
on a project that might fail 

I pulled the trigger 
brought home bulbs 
in a mesh bag wrapped
on the gray-blue Walmart bags
with a large pot 
my cat watched as I placed 
thick squiggling earth worms
shiny things burrowing 
into the earth 

the next morning 
I found the worms 
as hard leathery curls 
crisp, stiff, dead

sprouts broke through 
rose upward
curved thick stalks 
a single leaf began to unroll
my heart swelled 
the cat waited minutes 
after I turned my back
ate all the leaf

I created a mesh covering
that lasted two days 
cost me another leaf 

so I stood 
the special pot 
on a stool 

and all was well
until she-the cat 
brought the dog running
knocked over the pot 

my wife 
named her well

I always do this to myself
Get so close to someone
So close that commitment is within a hands reach
And then I shrink, I get small
I hide like a mouse just trying to stay warm
I dig my hole deep like a mole escaping the hot sun
I hide my secrets,
My feelings, my thoughts
In a tree like a squirrel stocking up for winter

And then I sit like a robin on a branch
While you fly off to another
I lay in the sun like a lioness on a rock
Sulking away, always aware of what’s around me
I won’t fight, I couldn’t have expected you to stay
Maybe I just wanted to be a labrador
And always be by your side
We may not have ended up as doves
But we could’ve always been wolves

It isn’t just noise, 
but human noise.
Dirtying our ears,
our parks, our oceans, 
every corner of our world. 
A constant barrage of sound. 
Listen. You hear the fan, 
the air conditioner, cars passing by. 
Then there’s music and
all the videos and reels
we’re addicted to. 
When was the last time
you heard only the sounds
made by the earth; 
insects humming, 
birds chirping, 
the trickle of a brook
or the roar of the ocean?
Stop. Hush. Be quiet. 
Can you hear it
Past the noise we make?

if I fall where no one sees
and I fall where no one hears
and if when I fall all by myself
I don’t make a sound
don’t disturb the crickets and lightning bugs
don’t wake the neighbors
and if I fall and trip and break
and I’m all alone in my quiet
acceptance of the pain
how do I know it hurt? 

Deadly Fiction kills
only through selective choice. 
Care in craft is power.

Foods have the unique ability
to agitate half a population
and animate the other half
to fight as if that food were
their only nourishment
for the rest of their lives.
Although green tomatoes exist
throughout the year like other tomatoes,
these limed and bitter coins 
reemerge with the summer
to claim a seat among
the other appetizers tired by their stay
as a staple of the American palate.
Although every morsel
is magnified multiply
through immersion in boiling oil,
green tomatoes release their taste best
when paired with other constrasting flavors.
No two finished fried products
ever taste the same, 
so perhaps the disgust
these humble friends have earned
results from the wrong example.
Much like summer itself,
some days scorch while some only shine,
and some people reinforce
the goodness we know exists in our centers
as others remind us why
we each develop individual textures,
like we each develop unique tastes
that barely rationally motivate us.

And don’t get me started on the deliciousness of pimento cheese.