Closure

closure--
this thing I need
where sad packs deep 
but neatly in its place
under a shiny brown shell

the way an acorn hides 
the potential of a tree
inside of it--a pain
200 years old, living, still growing 
and sometimes bitter
Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 3 Comments

Pretty things

Across the street
From the cemetery
Is the house

We grew up in, its yard
Confettied with yellow leaves
We'd rake in piles to dive into
Scattering them again

Today, my loss
Is tied with a bright bow
Like a fruit basket
With perfect apples
Too sour to eat

Spiced pink carnations
Tickling the back of my nose

Flowers always made him sneeze

See?  That's progress.
Thinking of him 
Made my lips twitch up
In something very similar
To a smile.
Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged | 3 Comments

Everyday losses

My mouth is dry
from holding your name inside it
like a mantra
that brings no peace.

My heart too steady 
for what I carry
& my lungs
don't want the air 
they're given

They want last week's air
when I returned you call 
but didn't want to
having better things to do
than hear a voice

I would give anything to hear again.
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Things my brother taught me

Not all toys are mine.

Don’t wear your glasses when playing Batman vs Catwoman.

Always say I love you.

Don’t sing over the radio if you don’t know the words.

Hug each other like you mean it.

Always do that. Even if you don’t.

For Jeff.

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged | 3 Comments

I don’t see color

I don't see color
they say but I do,
we are no stewpot
where everything simmers
to a bland monotone

as if a melting pot is a goal 
not an impossibility--
for every us there is a them

I don't see color
he says but I do,
my strawberry and cream
not the blackberry jam
usually his taste

as if women are on the menu
with dessert or sweet things--
and maybe we are

I don't see color
he says but I do,
as you are told the best way
to tell police to stop killing you
is quietly, peacefully

but not on national television

you are told your anger
is terrifying, uncontrollable

you are told to kiss the boots
on your necks

I don't see color
she says but I do,
blood staining pavement
first red then old penny brown
stinking of iron

as if old men can't be pushed--
only stumble on their own
Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Full strawberry moon

A day named this
on my calender
ought to be heady, sweet
round with the promise of summer
& growing things

Not this bitter harvest
of a seed pressed deep in new world dirt
500 years ago

but we must taste
what was already planted
no matter how poisonous
the fruit

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

If this is what is possible

This greening at the tips

This crocus open, irislike

And unexpected

 

I’ll welcome it

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 4 Comments