i wish i could hold onto that pristine 
moment like you held onto me in the Panera parking lot,
that moment before we knew we were doomed
to end even before we began.

it lasted two seconds, maybe three, 
but that single embrace was worth 
the weeks i spent waiting, 
the months i spent wondering
if you’d ever need me like i needed you.

if i would’ve known we’d be ripped
apart, i would’ve never let you go.

To my father,
Now that I’m big
I think a lot about when I was a kid
I never liked the phrase
‘Chip off the old block’
Because I always thought it meant that you thought of yourself
As more of a piece
And less of a rock
I thought it said less about where you came from
And did your place of origin disservice by placing an age on it
So I’m reminded of a sculpture
A statue
Where pieces are taken from the bigger figure
To make the smaller one whole
And it comes off way more powerful and impactful
When I see all the things that come
With not having a present, active father can do
And I’m reminded of how easy it could have been to
Stray or leave like so many others chose
Choose
You stayed with us to give us
All the best pieces of you
At great risk to yourself
And maybe that’s the point of the statue 
To remind us of how much you gave us 
For us to give back to you
So I’m using this space to pay you back
For decades of “borrowed” clothes and eaten snacks
For sleepless nights and lessons learned
And all the twists and bends and turns
And now that I’m a father too
I’m reminded that
You made being a dad look like the coolest thing to do
I never had to look to sitcom dads
Because I wanted to be just like you
Thank you for allowing me to find my way
When I’m angry or upset, showing me how to respond
Illustrating how to treat a lady by how you treat my mom
Thank you for never leaving us
Thank you for even if you doubted us
Always showing up, supporting, and believing in us
I wouldn’t be me without you
Thank you for all you’ve taught to get me here
For raising your grandchildren
With all the love,
(And half the discipline)
Thank you for always listening
Thank you for being my rock
And, maybe more fitting–
My building blocks
A combination of permanence but allowing me to keep
Building on a foundation you laid for me
Piece by piece
Thank you for all the parts of yourself
You have allowed me to borrow or forever own
To build myself into the man that I am
Feats, flaws and all
Love to the man who loved and loves me
Since I was small

It’s okay to make mistakes.

You don’t have to be perfect.

I still love you

even if someone else is

angry at you.

I’m sorry you feel lonely

for making a decision

to be good to yourself.

Just because you made a mistake

doesn’t mean you

are worthless

or unlovable

or undeserving of friendship.

Or that you have to ruminate on it

and feel guilt/shame about it forever.

You can let go of these thoughts.

They don’t have to ruin your day.

I’m sorry that someone

you looked up to

has chosen to

misunderstand you

and mistreat you.

Please don’t accept that

from anyone.

You deserve love and respect.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I see you.

My father is an anomaly. 
He grew up in a time when 
boys were supposed to be
tough and masculine, always 
showing strength, stoic,
unaffected by pain or
emotional hurt, dependable. 
His father was a skilled 
carpenter, a machinist with
an engineer’s mind, but not 
wealthy enough to be educated. 
Chauncey was an artist, a violinist,
a builder, a skater, an automobile 
maker , a Jack of all Trades, a quiet
introvert, not practiced in 
the art of parenting. 
Most men in the thirties and forties 
weren’t . It wasn’t expected. 
Yet somehow, my father,
also an artist, a carpenter, a sailor,
a builder, a singer, a reader and
an educator, was a patient 
responsible, loving parent.
He worked two and three jobs
while building our home,
plumbing, wiring, painting,
designing and constructing
all of it by himself. 
Our water came from 
a cistern he created. 
He taught me about trees,
birds, stars and constellations. 
He canned beans, put our kitchen 
wherever Mom wanted it.
He built an outhouse 
because three daughters 
and a wife with one bathroom …
He taught me to drive a stick shift,
to love nature, to work hard
and be dependable, to use tools
and paint walls, to build a fire
and change a tire. 
My father has always loved me,
through all my mistakes
and disppointments.
He has been my role model,
always consistent, ever humble.
I wish I could have given 
my daughters a father like mine.

6/16/24
KW

it would have been
another simple text
because we stopped
talking
years ago
but your dead
burned up into nothing

left me
a second time
avoided telling me
how you felt 
while others
feed me
what they believe 
you felt 
or maybe
what they think
I want to hear
none of it
will ever 
be good enough

goddamn you

If they took away the box
keeping nearby plantlife from entangling itself
in the nutrient-rich deceased
would I still be scared to step over where you’re buried?
would the trees bloom brighter?
would I no longer feel awkward walking through a cemetary?
Would you fear the intertwining,
Or simply embrace it?
Welcome it even.

the scariest things in the world
aren’t monsters or ghosts at all
but what people are capable of
doing to one another; all of the 
horrible things that we see on 
the nightly news are far more
terrifying than any we can just
imagine inside of our own mind

Like an old black & white movie,
the reels of time splice together
bits of days gone by.  It’s only
a dream.  Characters of a past life
fill the stage, playing out scenes.
Scripts rewritten.  Roles recast.
I awaken and wonder what
will take place before the curtain
comes down.  

I slowly wake myself from a nightmare.
The taste of three bottles of pills dissolves
to morning coffee breath. I’d do anything
to decompose the memory, the dream.
So I walk ten miles in place in total today.
I buy a white babydoll dress and four bras,
take the time in the fitting room to untangle
the straps and the lace, hang them back up.
I write in my diary, my little book of horrors.
I note that there is forty nine more days until
I will be an adult. I will try to be a good girl.
I will make all of my healthcare decisions.
I will not make horrible choices in moments
of weakness or panic. The days rot behind me,
my list of to-dos grows longer with the hours
I forfeit to exhaustion. I stand up in the light.
I water my garden in the mouth of the sun,
choking to inflate my lungs with hot June air.
I fade into warm showers. I smear my lips red,
smudge them with the tip of my index finger,
cherry-bitten. I paint my face like a real girl. 
I look human and whole. But I am neither.
I change my clothes. I change my expression.
I do not change. I do not grow horns from my head.
I eat two slices of moldy bread by accident
and vomit them up until stars flood the bathroom.
I cry to my mother about this. I fix my makeup.
I ignore my friends. I ignore my heartbeat rising.
I eat too many chocolate-covered strawberries 
and savor the crunch of ice in my teeth. I melt
myself into sunshine, seem calm, seem sweet, 
seem innocent. They’ve forgotten what I’ve done,
why I dream the horrible things I now dream.
It’s easy to pretend to live beyond that moment,
but I am still there, in hell. Despite, I undo my bed,
go to sleep, and find myself at the start, at home.
This is where the magic happens. I relive time. 
I devolve to iterations of the same story replaying
as I slowly fall asleep into the arms of a nightmare.

If I could 
I’d would 
Make a clean sweep 
Over your life
Fill in all the gaps 
Cracks, holes
That every single 
Person that didn’t 
Give you enough
Of what you deserved 
Throughout your life–
I’d pour every ounce 
Of love and happiness 
Into those voids
So you’d never 
Have to go a day 
Wondering about anything 
You’re better than 
They ever were 
I’ll love you more 
Than your heart 
Can ever hold
This whole lifetime 
And in every hereafter.