Dear Me, A Year Ago Today.

There will come a time

When you cannot remember

The tune

Of that one

Sufjan Stevens song.

I know you know the one

Right now it’s bouncing in your brain

It’s ringing in your head

And you’re cursing

Your vivid memory

There will come a day

When you cannot conjure

The scent of her sheets in the morning

Or the name of her one cat

And one dog.

You will forget which shirt of hers

She left with you.

You will forget which brand

She smoked.

Both she,

And the person you were alongside her,

Will be a distant memory.

You will forget

The pasta she made for you

And the movies she begged

You watch.

And that is good

And natural

And necessary

You will not forget

What you learned from her.

But you will heal,

And you may smile

When someday

They say her name

And it will feel like an affirmation,

And not, as today,

An assault.

There will come a time

When you will

Confidently belong

To yourself once more,

Do not doubt

The pain or

Process.

2012

By All Means, Wake Me.

If ever you find yourself in my bed,
I hope I have not fallen asleep without you.

(However, if I have-
By all means,
Wake me.)

If ever you are lying silently
In even the slightest
Discomfort
Or sadness
Or confusion,
Beside me,
And my REM trance,
I hope you will not hesitate to reach
A hesitant hand toward me,
And interrupt any dream
Of mine.

(As you,
Yourself,
Are a dream
Far greater,)

I hope you may feel the inexplicable comfort
With me
That may intimate
To you
So assuredly,
“Wake her,”

And you will feel
As if you should listen.

(My breath will rise
And fall.
My breath will rise
And fall.
You will wake me
And I will rise
Each summer, winter,
Spring and fall.)

You will know that I will wake,
And I will hold you,
Or I will listen,
Or I will boil hot water,
And crack the spine of a book-

Or I-
I will simply and presently occupy the space
Beside you.

(Your breath will rise
And fall.
Your breath will rise
And fall.
I can only hope
My open arms
Will make me
worth the fall.)

I hope you know that I will do so,
Each and every
Night,

(I would like to love you,
Tirelessly.)

I will do so without dreary tiredness,
Without overly excessive concern,
Without an expression that reads,
“I would rather be sleeping.”

(As there is nothing I would rather do
Than trace the eyeliner
Flaking from your face
And look into your sleepy,
Half-lidded eyes.)

I will do so,
So that you may do so- without guilt,
Without hesitation,
Without embarrassment.

By all means,
Wake me.

(My breath will rise
And fall.
My breath will rise
And fall.
You will wake me
And I will rise-
In love, so swiftly,
Will I fall.)

What Might Have Been

I inhale

Broken promises.

The memory of you

Aches in my bones.

They lay alone,

And yet still affected

By having once been
One with yours.

I consume

Wasted potential.

The dust of you

Films my brain.

Every nerve

Inhibited

With the burden

Of my
"It might have been,"

I blink

Unsaid words.

The sight of you

Sinks my heart.

Buries it deep,

Constructs a new wall,
Tall as the tower
Of Babel.

From here
To heaven,
I crack

Your voice

Into my knuckles.

From here
To hell,
I trace

The pads of

Your fingers

Along my hands.

I exhale

broken promises.

2011

Never Trust a Haiku: Never Let Me Go

Our days were numbered,

Hailsham was our holding cell,

A life full of lies.

Childhood creations
Were a soul deposit box,

Though we were clueless.

Silly art classes

Would prove our humanity;

We were just like you.

And the tape would play

In a white hospital room,

Struggling with the thought,

The sun rose and set

As Tommy withered away,

Searching for meaning.

I kept on hoping

Maybe we could have a life-

If we were in love.

I was committed,

My purpose was a dead-end

We tried, for life’s sake.

I cared and cared,

Donation after donation,

Then it became clear-

I’m nothing like you-

Nothing for Madam to say-

She’ll blanche and cower,

Cry because she knows-

Please, baby, baby, baby,

Never let me go.

2013

A Tree in Winter

Oh let me be

A tree in winter,

That I may

Gracefully

Let go

Of that which

Was not meant

For me.

Oh let me be

A tree in winter

That I may

Have a faith

That ensures

You will find
Your way home

To me.

Everything

Will be

Crisp,

Clean,

In the spring,

I will rebuild.

And as always,

My life will stand
Extravagant and

Igniting

In the fall.

Just you wait,

Faithful roots,

Just you wait.

2013

“I used to have this dream all the time,” he said, as he tugged her gently by their interlaced fingers.

There was a beat of silence as she swished a broken phrase around in her mouth. Finally she found an acceptable prompt.

“What was it about?” she asked. Her voice was some other woman's entirely.

“No," He said, and she furrowed her brow at his unexpected rejection, "I mean this." He answered, his back to her, "I used to dream about this,”

“About having dinner together?” her tone bordered on dubious. When there was no answer, she offered an alternative to fill the oppressive silence, "About having me here?"

“No- I mean, yeah." He scratched his head nervously with his free hand, "Not quite,”  His eyes scaled the staircase before him. His feet followed his gaze and her feet followed still, “In my dream," He began, "I was always leading you by the hand," The tension in her shoulders began to dissipate, "Up these stairs,”

She was intrigued, but still unsure. She could not decipher why exactly he felt the need to relate the anecdote.

“I would always be walking up to the bedroom- to my" He corrected himself, "Bedroom- with you in my wake," Her confusion only grew, "With your hand in mine.”

They had reached the upstairs hallway and began toward the door to his bedroom.

“Then what?”

“Then we reach the door, and you go inside, and-“

“And?” she responded to his momentary hesitation.

“And I suppose a part of me went inside with you.”

Another painstaking moment of smothering silence pervaded the space between them. This time, he looked straight at her.

“A part of you?” She said, trying to hide her desperation to understand.

“Well, you know how in your dreams," His words clamored over one another like children, "Sometimes you see everything through your own eyes, and other times you’re sort of," He seemed to search for the words, although they were simple, "Watching yourself?”

“Sure,”

“Well, I’m always myself until that point,” He wants to say 'this point.' He refrains, “And then the door opens, and I know that you and I go inside," They stand together, unmoved, outside of his white wooden door, "but I guess its my perspective that changes. Suddenly I’m outside of my body, watching as the two of you- the two of us,” he catches himself, “Go inside.” He breathes out, wishing he’d never begun, “And then I’m left staring at the door again, and I never know what happens inside. I never get to know,”

The absence of sound is some monstrous thing. She wonders how the absence of something can be just as pressing and just as palpable as its entrance. She wonders how words left unsaid can be so much more substantial, more fleshy, than those that are stated without a quiver of the lip or the drumming of a heart.

“Tonight,” her free hand reaches for the doorknob, “Tonight is not like your dreams,” she improvises, unwilling to allow her apprehensions to pervade her speech.

Not tonight.

No, not tonight.

Tonight is the night.

"Tonight is the night," She turns the nob slowly, practically caressing it beneath her palm, "Tonight, you step inside." She squeezes his hand tighter, "Tonight, you get to know,"

His expression is nearly blank with surprise. She does not speak like this. Is she not herself? Or has she finally conjured the courage to speak as she wishes?

"Tonight will be a new kind of dream,"

She swings the door open and steps inside, her back to the room and her brilliant smile to him, as she leads him by the hand.

He steps in after her. He smiles back.

With his own free hand, he closes the door softly behind them.

2010

Short and Sweet and to the Point.

Your hands were little
but that did not
reflect
how much I needed
to hold them.

One slipped
into mine
and two separate
cold hands
turned warm and wakeful,
instantly.

Those hands adjust
your glasses;
They fiddle with
my hair,

They sift and surf
through chilly water,
and pull rocks
from the receding sand

Those hands trembled
next to mine,
our skin glued
at hip, knee, and shoulder,
And all in between,
and down to toes.

Suddenly
the cold ran off
into the night
and left me with ever-emerging stars.

uneclipsed by
inundations back home.
They gave me something
I could not find
anywhere else.

2012