In those wild woods, poison sumac
would distance one from active tracks–
jagged moan, trembling steel, cerulean sky
waiting for your call: an endless horizon,
a warbler singing quietly
(originally published in Every Writer, Spring 2017)
Of all the things to want and never–
death, a cardboard box of pity and riches,
crosses the ocean in a FedEx plane
from a foreign world for you.
It’s the thinning–
no one disbelieves
your supposed withering.
With skull under scalpel,
tell me your scars.
That’s where the recovery begins.
(originally published in Viewfinder Literary Magazine, Summer 2016)
Where I lived was a quiet crescendo
of snow six months of the year
& mosquito summers wearing shorts
into the sweating night
Where I lived had piano thunderstorm concertos
jolting the elderly house’s bones
with frenetic fingers, ivory paint,
Where I lived was a lonesome walking trail
where morning chirps of blue jays went unnoticed.
Beds of acorns lined the autumn grass,
a kind of fallout for the process of aging
and the act of leaving
Always, now, in thought, it is a shoebox
of dandelions that writhe when I pet the cold cardboard–
hello, you are home, tonsils– my heart
can’t handle the hand-shaped imprints
from so far away
(originally published in Rubbertop Review – Volume VII, 2015)