In 1986

I don’t mind washing dishes
It gives me time to think.

Perhaps I can fit in
a few lines of poetry
between tucking them in

and waking up for work,

or should I pretend I’m asleep
so I don’t have to hear his voice
like razor blades grinding my ears
and the click, click, click
of that video game controller;

the chorus to Roseanne reruns
playing in the background.

Let’s face it-

Without those sleeping angels
in the next room, the man upstairs,

and these syllables
that flow, like flowers
through a slipping mind,

I would surely expire,
at 26.

Is it 5:30 yet?



Sole to Soul

I remember my grandfather’s brown shoes
by the front door. Oh, how I wanted to fill them!
Now, I hold on to hours of the same old stories
told time after time; eyes still wide in admiration.




I hid inside myself

where it was safe
with just a spark of gold
seeping through the cracks;

light to feed my soul

and flowing ink
to soothe old lacerations.






Tent City

Who are we to wonder
why he holds a sign
or stare obnoxiously
at last year’s overcoat

reluctantly passing by,
afraid of making eye contact
with the cold, hard truth.

The sun rotates, sets
and rises again
without showing us an answer
why clouds follow some
and separate for others

leaving promises dangling
in midnight winds
and June petals falling
like fireflies into light.

I learned moons ago
that it isn’t all roses,
but I keep trying

to make them pretty;
these verses
that call my name
at 2:00 am
waking grief

to spill in sweet sentences,

leaving letters under my pillow
for the next time I can’t sleep.



Some Nights

I miss you

when moonlight falls
upon our weeping willow branches

causing a shadow effect
just above these blue curtains
we picked out together.



Beauty is a Three Letter Word

Oh, stones, mountains;

these rocks he walks upon,
and the rivers that carry them
on yellow mornings
when poppies spring up,

read as the love of a book;

these psalms that tuck us in
when outside elements
are our only comfort,

when those initials
become a desecration,
branches bent;
wrapped around our hearts,

eyes, weeping like willows,
at the coming of light,

Oh Light!
the dawn of second chances,
new buds forming,

precious seeds
of thought, germinating

in cohabitation
in collaboration
with the moon

in perfect sync,
this worship;

the poetry of stars
and the beauty
in realization
of a two syllable testimony:

“I am!”



Immersed in Stars


It was just around
four o’clock
in the eye of a storm

and she was dancing
in a field of dandelions.