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poems from 2024 |
Happy Mother’s Day, I Promise Despair rarely harbors itself here. Keenly aware when someone is not a worthy match. A mindful boxer who relaxes the gloves to let his opponent stagger and sway, considering if the occasion truly calls for another strike. Or maybe, like blood moon skies in this aging universe, I am just too preoccupied to notice when someone is turning out the lights. Today, it’s the single-blade razor leaving an ingrown hair on my cheek, and the fact that someday no one will remember how my legs once tread against second city streets. And the conversations those passing faces shared about home winemaking as if they were the first to unfasten stems and split open grapes. In that same way, as I trim and prune these poems and pick the plump, unscarred words The ones that nearly release themselves from the vine. Avoiding things like corner bakeries And Christmas at Macey’s I want more, but I am less If you feel lost in what traffic is left, just know that at one point there was so much more of me. Like the crumbled church on Jefferson that came down tonight without a soul knowing. Architecture composed a century ago Welcoming a century’s worth of sun Through stained glass windows that witnessed So many despair and grow And stand and drink down grapes It’s hearing her state in the past tense, “I always was a pretty good actress.” And the similar desperation that washes over me like decades when I think about weeds reclaiming brick sidewalks. The doom of paint chips flaking from pantry shelves, pared off like splinters from knives Shawn and I used to whittle in the woods. There, between the trees that you loved With an affection that glimmered in each tear Shed as the timbers staggered And swayed After a century of Daylight filtering through their limbs Striking the pages of letters you wrote before there was anything of me. I have always wanted to love like you to have fallen not far from those oak branches And there’s still time to learn because, you’re not even young yet and your sharp eyes needle the whisker free. |