Well/Dam (His/Hers)

White noise is
every song I love or
liked even once. The
lilting that helps to hush
day-to-day stress, loneliness
and mental origami.
My white noise is Hallelujah

dreaming is overkill

at least until

my playlist sounds like a

noise that becomes a pulley

Say It Like A Poem

I’m not saying it

like a poem

I am sitting
in the middle of it

Repeating it back

It is in rhythm 
nearly every time 

So often
you won’t even notice 

hung over

When you go home 

where do you hang your robe?

Do you always put it

on the same hanger

in the back of your closet 

or is it hung over 

a chair back 

in your bedroom? 

I want to know

where your hate lives 

when you are not wearing it

secretly

Do you sniff it

to know when

it is time to run it

through the washing machine? 

Can you smell your mother’s laundry detergent 

when you wear it?

Do you think

if maybe you were born

a little earlier,

we wouldn’t be in your father’s mess…

or do you understand

basic human decency?

If you want to disrobe now, 

I think that’s the only way

to correct your moral arc  

and footprint on sacred landmarks

What is in the water

that makes you so hateful

but

fills me up with lovely things

that keep spilling over 

Are you drunk with ignorance?

Or just hungover 

 

Back When Tigers Smoked

 i am hopeless

 and You split in two

At the top of the stairs

we kiss for the first time 

   

At the bottom of the stairs I write

"TLW" on a pack of American Spirits

i think it’s too soon

to be writing couplets

but here i am

splitting hairs with You

What's next?

A Fucking Shakespearean Sonnet

 

Back when tigers smoked, we had it easy

When led by weather and intuition,

there is no such thing as anxiety

Our bodies grow strong with repetition

Back then, the night met every morning

with a grin, plans already in motion 

Their greatest purpose, known without saying

The hardest part had already been done 

Will you meet me in the afternoon sun

at the exact time shadows disappear

Will you speak in words I will not question 

When that moment passes, if you’re still here  

we’ll go back in time, before my heart broke  

we’ll meet in the past, back when tigers smoked

In the meantime 

i will write a poem

It will be a couplet

abruptly interrupted by a sonnet 

Kindle (Soapbox for Tinder)

I finally pulled my chin up

after my neighbor told me

she loved walking by my house

because of all the flowers

and I responded with,

I only see the weeds

Thank god I only speak in truths

because half my thoughts lie to me

I should have known this spring

it was time to turn that corner

when instead of making bouquets,

I started frantically deadheading everything

How painful to explain

that sitting in the sadness of your passing

felt better than

resisting the world we all still live in

Shortly before you died, you told me

you were afraid you took my light away

I told you then

That light will never stop shining 

You were just burning so bright

it was hard to see.

I Sold the Altar

I sold the arbor,

the one we said

we would build together,

and bought a cheap piece of plastic

to grow the Kentucky Wisteria on

instead

I planted it just left of where

we were going to say our vows

I gave away your weed eater 

It was too heavy for me

And for nearly a year

I have been on my hands and knees

after every rain

pulling up the sorghum by hand

one by one

Maybe the clover will take over soon

I think I might die

if I decide to sell the gas mower

Not because it was yours

I just get sad

every time I lift it 

out of our little makeshift shed 

all by myself 

We used to lift it together 

I laughed so hard when I found 

those two brand new tool bags

in the attic

I kept the jigsaw

and paid the mortgage with the rest

Has enough time passed yet?

Can I sell this sadness

for twice as much as what I felt?

I used the money

from selling your car

to pay for eight new tattoos

and will keep getting 

permanent things 

on my body

that remind me of you

until I run out of room 

 

   

 

For the Living

For ten months

I have done nothing

but grieve

Figured out how to say

thank you

without crying

and learned how to cry

while still making coffee

I think the 9th

will always hurt my feelings

which is fine 

It is better 

than feeling nothing

Your wake was beautiful

and every day

I am reconciling

how the passing of time

can bring so much relief

but reclaims the clarity

of the recently bereaved

Besides you, 

I don't let myself

miss anything 

from before that night

I can't bring you back to life

I just want it to be okay

that you died

Music is different now

I have forgotten

how to let it fix me

Maybe the sad song

I need to hear

hasn't been covered yet

so I am still listening

I've stopped looking

for signs

that you're still here

It's like begging for water

while drowning

You haven't stopped

showing up in my dreams

My favorite is the one

where you are just sleeping

beside me

I know you are gone,

but don't tell you.

Grieving is for the living