father’s day

Today was the first time
in a long time
I had to find a way
to explain your​ loss,
this sadness,
by trying-

today was the first time
in a long time
I had to find a way
to explain your​ loss,
this sadness,
while attempting
to not
be either.

Six years of practice
and there’s still no nonchalance in death.

How do you answer
so that nobody
regrets the question?

the library

I had a dream about you last night.
We went to a library-
there was some party in the back but we kept to ourselves in the shelves.

It felt so nice–
we were finally flirty,
finally so playful!
There was an ease and joy that every encounter
always seemed to lack.

But even still,
we were nothing.
You only wanted the physical-
wanted to see others even, together.

I got it, then.
But I hated it, too.

Even in my own sleep-filled stories you do not really want me.
Only in dreams do we have a spark.

And I know now,
I know–
this is the way it had to be.


I don’t want to stop writing.
I may not have much in the way of
skill or craft,
but it taps something in me
that can lay otherwise dormant,
that will spend centuries in dust,
bone pressed to stone,
leaving only the faintest impression
of life


Cant Fight Love

I should have known it was doomed
the night I came home
and all thoughts of you were interrupted
with thoughts of someone else.

I knew it was precarious, then,
that the excitement of this new
was overshadowed with
lingering feelings of the old.

Nothing ever realized, actualized,
but still in the background
all my hopes were given new life,
and you were lost in the undertow.

I wouldn’t have given you up for the tide,
but you cut yourself loose.
And now I’m drifting,
pointing my compass,
following that star
away from here

I’m sorry

in reality,
you never stood a chance.

draw blood

I wish I could recreate you with pen strokes,
turn paper and ink
into blood and bone,
punctuation and diction
to muscle and nerve.
Death never seems fair
but this,
this sticks —
If I could write you to life,
spine become spine,
binding to skin,
margin and gutter
to sense and sinew,
cover to cover
your book would already be filled.

I would hold you in my hands,
feel your weight, your smell,
and then maybe
I could feel
that there is hope–
we are not all


kiss hard

I’ve tried to trap you in words,
tried to describe what it meant,
who you were
to someone
that never even knew you.
Regret that never
moves far from the surface.
If I could do it again
I’d probably be just the same,
or, maybe, sadder,
more distant,
because I’d already know
the ending.



Azorean sunset
Sunset in the Azores 2014

Long story short:
the sun will set,
there will be dark and
silence and separation.
But sunrise,
it will come again,
and time will be yours
to master.

I remember seeing a phrase in a catalog when I was younger, etched into a bracelet, and it has stuck with me since:

“Sunrise, sister. It all comes back to this.”

I don’t know if it’s from anything specifically, a movie, book, or TV show, but it resonates with me a lot.

I always wanted to have a physical reminder of it, but haven’t actually seen it anywhere since that catalog. I also wasn’t so sure I’d want it on a bracelet anyway (I rarely wear them – let my arms be FREE), or on a t-shirt (I can’t wear the same shirt every day), or anything at all really. But it occurs to me, that something that holds so much meaning for me – and has done for years – could make a really great tattoo.

Just a thought. I love tattoos and have always wanted one.

This might not be such a bad place to start.