Poem
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How are you still alive and breathingWhen you haunt me as I’m dreaming?No contact since our indefinite separation,I expected to hear news on occasion.Now I wonder if we existed at all. Should I feel distressed or relievedThat we’ve become nothing more than a memory?Only digital records kept in social media posts,Red-eyed photos and half-forgotten jokes,Serve
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Houses germinate like weeds, Popping up- unwanted- in the fields. The overgrowth has altered the landscape. I dig through the new branches to find the routes- Roots to anchor the present to the soil of the past. The old dirt road has been paved. A thick layer of tar to smother memory lane. I glided
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I’m overrun with possibilities of what I could do, where I could go, and who I could be. Instead of making a choice- I freeze. So I can be all of these things and none of them, all at once.
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I almost burned down my apartment Trying to erase the final traces Of the mistakes that I’ve made. But my memories only fade, Like the stupid line tattoo That took a year to remove. What’s been written can’t be changed. Stains in ink as black as sin, on the page and on my skin. Washed
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Everyone I love leaves in the spring. Melting away with the winter snow, Floating away on the wind Like stone fruit flowers. Just as life begins, Something else ends.
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Warm, woody and hearty; Like the old dinner table, Taking center stage in an ancestral home. Strong, full, and nurturing; Like a wise woman’s words. Ancient knowledge, preserved through time. Sweet, layered, and addictive Like a lover’s first kiss. It taste’s unparalleled, but beware the dose.
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The winter sky is white As the milky waters of Lethe. The stark clouds blend into a horizon: No beginning and no end, Like oblivion. The impervious sky, The impersonal snow, Blur the lines of heaven and earth. A void without warmth. A void without memory. A void without emotion. Only the bliss of nothingness.
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The cold moon rises in a lifeless sky. Silver as the winter, Bright as a midnight sun, Shattering the darkness. Snow illuminates the landscape. A reflection of a reflection, A false dawn? Or heaven’s mercy on an endless night?
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Silence. Muffled, echoing voices singing yuletide songs. Silence. Smothered, trodding footsteps in the light crunch of snow. Silence. Dimmed, crackling flickers of a soft grated flame. Silence. Measured, rhythmic turning of a well worn page. Silence. Hushed, intimate whispers of a loved one’s voice. Silence. Stilled, passing time in the winter frozen world.
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In a quiet little town-close enough to the coast to look for seaglass in summer. Is a cozy little house-close enough to the woods to watch the leaves change in fall. With a few good neighbors-close enough to share baked goods and gossip in winter. Who sit around a fire-close enough to imagine the warmth
Bringing Mae Flowers 