when you think of me
my name turns to ash on your tongue.
I hope your heart flutters, your stomach turns
and you feel pain.
I am a vengeful man
filled with fire and fury
when I am wronged
I wish the retribution to be returned sevenfold.
I hope the places we used to go together
are ruined for you.
The food doesn’t taste as good because
each bite is tainted by the past and the memories.
I hope that every time you gaze at the stars
alone or with someone else
you think of the constellations we named
and the lies we told
to fate and to each other’s face.
I hope anytime you’re around sand
you can’t get it out of your shoes
or your underwear.
I hope that you get sunburnt every damn summer.
Twice.
I hope that your windshield is covered in bugs
and your pipes freeze in the winter.
I hope that every bad thing
that could, should, would
would happen to you.
I hope that you feel an ounce of regret
and no matter how many drinks you take
I hope that regret sits bitter, cold, and heavy
right in the pit of your stomach.
I hope you stub your fucking toe
when you get up in the night to pee.
I hope you run out of toilet paper
in every public bathroom you meet.
Mostly, always, and forevermore
I hope that you are unhappy.
I hope it eludes you like
Tantalus’ grapes.
I hope life treats you mean.
In silence and in schemes.
Finally, I hope
you know deep down somewhere
it’s because of what you did to me.

Razzmatazz, Carrot,
Dandelion, Inchworm, Teal,
Cobalt, Lavender

A resonance of song
 
A chiffon scarf
                               floats
                                                  away
into an ocean
five shades of blue
waves roll in.         waves roll out.
the wingspan of twenty two birds
on their way home–

finds you

Your mother’s old coat

Thank you

For raising me. For raising my mother. For raising my nephews and their mom

For teaching me about a good pepper bread. For teaching me about a good spaghetti omelet

For sitting and talking to me when I didn’t know I wanted to

For showing me that faith still exists in a faithless world

For singing me songs and telling me stories while I try to fall asleep

For telling people I’m good. For meaning it.

For making “bookie” my fake job title

For being just like me. For being just like them.

For loving me unconditionally.

I miss you already

Alone at the bar last night
I happened upon another intentionally alone woman.
I wouldn’t say she reminded me of my mother (though similar in age)
but the ease about her – warm and maternal –
drew me in.
Kathy and I chatted easily
    she told me about the karaoke regulars, gave me the rundown of the scene
she stops by every Thursday
    drinks white wine
    a sweet older man named Joe dedicates songs to her
    but she doesn’t sing.  
My forever-mantra (“Everyone can sing!”)
was met with her wry, “Only people who can sing say that.”  
By the end of the night
I’d belted two songs and had three drinks
and Kathy was telling me about her divorce.
Before she asked 
she’d known this was a storyline for me
and she shook her head at my meandering explanation of the marital mess.
“When it’s over, it’s over,” Kathy said. “You already know.”
After she wished me well and paid her tab
I watched her dematerialize into the crowd
like a mystic departing from this spiritual plane
and wondered if anyone else had seen her on that bar stool
or if she was an apparition
just for me.

I downed a fourth drink
sang the shit out of another pop break-up anthem
and walked home
alone.

the river,       her friend
                                       time,                          the
door that led        to                  space.                     The
book
                                                      of            windows
                                                 had to close
                                        in           what had gone wrong

      in
the world.

Some
folks                              argued that

                                                                                         peo-
ple weren’t
                                                                                    at fault,
               constantly

                                                                          shattering the
                               golden

                                                                             quiet,

    quivering          the ground.              

~ An erasure of Elizabeth Strout’s novel Tell Me Everything pgs. 7-8. The poem’s title is taken  from p. 1

It has been awhile since I dreamed of you
My very first love at the age of fifteen
When they said we couldn’t possibly know
true love, they were wrong

Friends at first and lovers next
bumbling through many first

slb

not yet where I want this to be but it really has been wanting to get out. In loving memory of a soul gone soon Timothy Michael Davey, your kindness and words live on in my heart and memory. 

is a strawberry mantra
sun rouged and juicy  

a patch of plump            
exuberance  

tasty psalm                       
of blushing delight  

our eyes dizzy                 
with wonder  

the night dripping                       
sweet from our tongues

And now, finally, let me be one with the earth
Let me be a vessel for it, be its front
Its physical embodyment
So that, through all it sails , it can in me
In one small way enter into humanity

When it’s quiet in deep winter
Something subtle, whispering is heard
Mechanics are performing maintenance
In the deep workshops
Half spiritual, half elemental beings are busy

And inside each one of us
There is slumber during the deep freeze
Wisdom weaves itself
Repairing, youthesizing us, the earth, the universe
Wisdom breathing light into life