June 2010

In college I knew Ryan
	I don't know him now
Before him there was Shannon
	who I never knew, and how!
It high school it was Sarah
	and others I forgot
In fourth grade I knew Megan, so
	now I know her not
And before here there were many
	who I never knew, or will
In first grade I met Brittany
	and I know her still

Happiness is a place I want to know

I never had imaginary friends
	(and yet we still played)
I made some real friends too
	but they rarely stayed
I don't like feeling poorly, and
I am no longer grieving, so
I forgave their leaving, still
They keep on deceiving, and
I keep on believing

Happiness is a place I want to remember

In my head I hear it low
The whisper of a song
From a time that's now behind
And oh, it's been so long
I know I should let go
To forget would not be wrong
I tell myself and still
It seems I'm hanging on

If happiness is a place, can I go?

When we were young the world bloomed
	she grew in gold and green
Now those tales are old
	and done
	and told
I remember what I've seen

This world, she claims I am full grown
And doomed with the adults
	to plan
	to tryst
	to walk in mist
	to love and lose and lull

I'm told a world long gone
	a world gone long
It is, it has been, it will be
	for me
And so with this I walk in mist
	to see what I may see

Happiness was in September

June 2010

April 2010

Together we
    we never see the things we should
And though not shy we both just lie
    we'd sooner die before we would
Admit to knots of creeping thoughts
    we never bought those lands
And so in bed I hold my head
    I could instead be reaching for your hands

July 2009

At fifteen I knew you.
But not at sixteen
   and now we are twenty-two.
And now it seems you
   are a simile of a person I knew.
And if now I ran into you
   I might say,
      "You remind me of someone I knew."
And that person would be you.
She would be the you I knew.

Nov. 2009

Calliope sits
	with her tablet on her thighs
	she cocks her head
	she hears our cries
	she smiles slyly
	and invites us with her eyes
	to try again

We have our paper and our pen
Our quill and ink and type
We have decided this is when
We will gird our loins and try again
To write

And we will write until we stiffen
We will write until we go blind
We will write until we are nocturnal
We will write until we petrify
We will lose our hope and then
We will try to write again

When we are no longer breathing
When we are six feet beneath
Our fingers, they will twitch
And we will yell our grief
Because we love that cold hard bitch
And even then
We will want a pen

And Calliope sits
	with her tablet on her thighs
	she cocks her head
	she hears our cries
	she smiles slyly
	and invites us with her eyes
	to try again

For Sarah, Feb. 2010

A year and a half in housekeeping
	behind and done and gone
Having never known such strife
	or lived through work so long
No longer quite so young
As a result, a different view
	between you and me, the things we knew
	The difference of a sprout and flower
Time, it's power
	has instigated the law of continuous change
To show it's range:
	A tree grows
		in smog and mud and rain
		battered by heavy winds
		it bends, it twists
		and knots persist
		it does everything to gain
		a foothold
		such strong roots
		born of will, such pain
The point is this
As I am enduring it no longer
	in retrospect, I see
I did not get beaten down and emerge stronger
I did not slowly wither, to later thrive
This truth ought be spoken
I was broken
	and reshaped into what I became
	to survive

Feb. 2010

Eggs were in my oatmeal
   this morning when I poured
   hot water from the kettle
   out hatched all the dinosaurs.

They fumbled and they grumbled
   awake from age-long rest
   they climbed great oatmeal mountains
   Stegasaurus and T-Rex.

They were loud and proud and monstrous
   they gave a bellow and a roar
   I found I could not eat them
   and instead led them to my sock drawer.

Now they amble and they ramble
   over hills of cotton cloth
   they roam the folded landscape
   the dinosaurs my oatmeal caught!

Nov. 2009

The world is full of stone-cold souls
	lined and bunched and ground
They look and frown from their marble bowls
They detest that we're around

Emily had an angel face
	a heart of pure spun silk
And no comprehension of that place
They flowed over her like milk

Now in their dark and shallow depths
	they tremble and they hiss
And they wonder why Emily, Emily, Emily
Emily is all there is

March 2010