tables don’t turn,
we just get up and move over
or play those chairs like
harmonies hummed but not remembered,
so we can remake our own song,
that one we know we knew but
can’t find the hook for.
anyway,
we move and our settings don’t,
so we get restless and selfish and
think the short sentences can’t
hurt each other that much, until we
find eyes swole, chests still, and
the air leaves so it’s just us,
living with what we say and what we mean
and the difference in-between.
so,
sometimes you wake up, rush out the house
and look back to see all you’ve left
unhelped, unchanged– but you said, “love you!”
and she replied the same, though you
know those words are formal now,
the way any repetition becomes less
competition and more a breathless, huddled-over
mess while you watch someone else, or no one, win.
Category: Poems
-
we just get up and move over
-
rub your back
during your sleep,
you wake in me
the need to be
a better man, a
better father,
one you can
depend on, who
you can talk to,
who you can
sit beside
and ask to
rub your back
to take your mind off
pooping.
-
disposal
you have an
irrational fear
of the
garbage disposal,
and I
find myself
cleaning your stacks
and
stacks
of discarded food,
as you put our
princess
down
and get some sleep—
finally, some sleep—
and I know you
do this nightly, before I
unwind
and think
of you.
-
fountain
I watched a fountain today,
as its
droplets
calmed
and rested
and
its waves
rounded
to be
still.
-
dance the neck
Just
Give me another reason
To forget the words
And make some more.
Let me dance the neck
Until it pops and
That relief pauses me
For a little bit, just
Long enough to lose
The thought but keep
The melancholy.
-
Textbook
We hide
Behind the
Textbook
Definition
Of
Who we
Should be
At this point,
But we’ve been
Missing those words
For years now, and
We need
To let go of
What others
Define us as—
Be-cause
Every one
Has their own
Un-
Filtered
View of
Where/who
They are,
And it’s
About time
We realize
Reality
Is often so
Much more
Beautiful
When
Unbounded.
-
time, a ticking
sky turned over us,
bending light-to-dark,
dark-to-light, with pinholes
or flattened geometry
to guide us
day-to-day
for millennia.then, a ticking,
a tricky play
with gears
on gears
inside, giving
our world
a pace
by which
to breathe,
to meet,
to intersect
amongst
trailing,
prevailing,
ensuing
bits of our day.and now, so to be
closer with our makeup, we
measure movements, many
tiny movements,
hoping to sync with the world.
-
say what
she jumps on couch cushions,
tips of toes stabbing the cotton
as heels brace and spring
back
into the air, her weight-less-ness
becoming her happy place,
lasting as long as bounces do.
-
She kicks while arms strike air,
Calling me to gallop, showing
She’s not had enough; and I’m
Doing everything I can to keep
Her satisfied, to keep her calm
While body marks growth with
Her pain; subsiding, my bridle
Bitten to avoid tears mixing
With the drool on our arms,
She quickens my feet, turning me
Around the couch we sit on to eat;
I twist to reverse, to give her
Something new, something to
Catch the attention fighting those
Cries; and her eyes move ahead,
Guessing our path, when I buck
And find another way to do the
Same thing, to stretch our walls
And give her want to smile, to
Free her, all while fighting those
Cries.