It’s never trivial to offer comfort to the dead,
to the one who shouldn’t stay but cannot leave.
The rhythm of the singsong rhymes that lay them in their bed
is the same one on your tongue that lets you grieve.
canto
Posted in On Depression, Poetry
1 Comment
un/make
when was it exactly that you lost the thread
dropped a stitch or two
can you unravel it back to a time
can you find your place again
take it all apart
rip the seams
remake the beginning
how do you pull at the hems
decide to start over
what happens if
there is no one left to spin the yarn
how do you know if
you can make something
anything
from the
scraps
Posted in Love Poems, On Depression, Poetry
Leave a comment
He Wonders
He used to wonder
if he would find someone
who would wade the river of his soul
grow tan in the sun of his love
allow him to want,
recklessly and desperately,
completely
let him take hold
with a desire so fierce
it left an ache with every heartbeat,
every pulse
He used to wonder
if he would find someone
who would follow him anywhere
everywhere
even places they should not
could not go
might they forge a path
together
wanting what he wanted somehow
letting it be wanting what they wanted
what they both wanted
without it being
sacrifice
He used to wonder
if anyone would hear him
as he heard himself
He used to wonder
if the rising need was sweet to anyone else,
or if they loped along their dogpaths,
grass in their toes,
mud in their mouths,
content for achievement,
for purchase,
for valor
He remembers as a younger man,
hearing others mock someone else
for laying in bed with their lover
for hours,
brushing her hair,
marveling
that the universe had made something that was precious
He used to wonder
if he might have that,
that marvel,
that sweetness,
that
light
He wonders,
still
Posted in Poetry
3 Comments
Unapologetic
thing
that grew shortly within me, parasite, unwanted
that had no face, no limb, no heartbeat
that would have breathed first
on a day to remember, remember
that might’ve been something beautiful
potential crushed
without regret
does not mean without thought
without regret
does not mean without wonder
without regret
does not mean without abundant curiosity
all it means is
without regret
Posted in Poetry
Leave a comment
Coming Undone and Becoming
I will grow.
I am this thing that is
still green.
So many tell me I am
done,
fruited,
blossom withered
dropped and gone
at best
but I still feel I am a seed
still feel the roil of potential,
the strange buzz of anticipation,
trembling in wait.
I am shrouded
in the wet dark,
buried
yes,
but not dead, no,
just dreaming,
dreaming,
dreaming of the sun
and the day I will rise,
green and curled
and coming undone
and becoming,
with a flourish.
You don’t have to wait for me,
if you don’t want to —
you don’t.
I will bear the blossom and fruit for myself
if I must,
but I do imagine
it will all be the sweeter to share,
even if the wait was longer
than anyone intended.
Posted in Poetry
Leave a comment