What Then

What then 

must we make 

of the fact that 

aspiration 

means both 

hope 

and the act of 

breathing?

Was this intentional? 

Did they want us 

to believe that 

hope 

is what keeps us 

alive? 

It is 

hope 

which breaks 

our hearts, 

beloved, 

and who can 

survive such a 

fate?  

Poem

I did not find 

the poem I needed: 

angry, soulful, 

sassy, proud. 

I found a poem 

for my best friend’s daughter, 

and one for a classmate’s 

melancholy job. 

I found a poem 

about a cafe 

where I had convalesced, 

listening to “Sweet Georgia Brown” 

played by a brass band 

and a poem 

about the streets of Rome 

that I have hobbled across 

in shoes too new 

and tight. 

I found a poem 

for my oldest daughter, 

sweet 

and full of words 

I dare not whisper, 

and far too many poems 

about birds. 

I did not find 

the poem I needed, 

though I searched through 

snowy woods at dusk and 

purple mountains majesty 

and even blackest nights 

laid bare. 

I found a poem 

about the emotions found only 

at the edge of the ocean 

and a poem about 

the music a city makes, 

and one about desert stars 

that was also about death. 

I found poems about love: 

new love, old love, 

lost love, found love.

But I did not find 

the poem I needed. 

Perhaps it is still being written. 

Maybe you 

have just picked up 

your pen. 

Barista

I may never be 

your cup of tea. 

But darling, 

stop trying 

so hard 

to resist the 

coffee 

that flows 

through my veins. 

We both know 

how you crave 

the caffeine. 

Begending

This is not the end-

this is a new beginning.

We will start again. 

Love Story: Day 9223

Girl wakes early, 
brews coffee, 
nudges sleeping dog 
from his guard,
lets bacon sizzle 
in a cast iron pan. 
Boy pads into the kitchen, 
kisses Girl’s forehead, 
reads yesterday’s news. 
He squeezes Girl’s hand. 
It is enough. 
It is everything. 

Shield Haiku

The world is burning,

in gunfire and mayhem.

Hold me closer still. 

Love Story: Day 2746

Boy sees Girl- 

sees her 
at the park, 
across the street, 
in every one of his 
aching dreams. 
Girl is everywhere. 
She is nowhere. 

Boy reads 
Girl’s words, 
knows they were 
once his own. 
He keeps her picture 
in his pocket, 
writes her name 
on every window
he opens, 
traces her smile 
into sand 
and snow. 

Girl waits. 

Shadows

somehow 

the sun’s blamed 

for shadow-

my guilt 

isn’t penance 

for yours

Love Story: Day 1527

Girl is afraid 

of Boy’s silence. 
Boy is afraid 
of Girl’s endless words. 
They both leave- 
gently, 
so they don’t hurt the other. 
They whisper promises 
already broken 
and platitudes
worn thin with age. 
They both break. 

Boy’s break is loud. 
Violent. 

Girl just 
crumbles, 
too weak 
to keep the pieces 
of herself 
together. 
Girl knows 
so many ways 
to shatter.  

Girl shatters. 

Love Story: Day 592

Girl writes sonnets 

in notebooks 
meant for science. 
Boy is all the chemistry 
she will ever 
need to know. 
Girl hums the lullabies 
that Boy composes 
to the easy breaths of 
her own slumber. 

She learns to read 
the lines that
Boy leaves 
unwritten. 
Boy leaves 
so many lines 
unwritten. 

Girl keeps writing. 

Love Story: Day 449

Girl is Boy’s. 

He wraps himself 
around Girl 
like a blanket;
promises to 
soften any blows 
that would bruise her, 
promises that he 
will not bruise her. 

Boy will bruise her. 
His fingerprints 
are already 
pressing 
into her 
tender heart. 

Boy has already begun
to leave Girl’s 
deepest scars.

Love Story: Day 253

Boy sees Girl. 

Boy sees 
her face on fire 
when he talks to Girl, 
feels himself 
warmed by the 
heat in her voice, 
Boy wants to 
heat her. 

Boy likes 
this feeling. 

Girl likes 
this Boy. 

Love Story: Day 104

Girl watches Boy-

watches him 
wrap himself 
around the shoulders 
of another, 
watches him 
light the room, 
watches her room 
grow dim. 

Girl grows dim. 

Girl hears his voice 
and cannot find her own. 

Love Story: Day 1

Girl meets Boy. 

In the sacred 
halls of learning, 
she sees only 
his smile. 
Boy’s teeth 
tell her more 
about the world 
than any textbook
she has pored over and 
his eyelash highlights 
make him so easy 
to read. 

Girl loves to read.

In and Out

Your sharp breath in and 

my heart’s refusal to beat-

we exhale as one. 

Enough

How many small graves?

How many mothers

must bury a son?

How many thoughts and 

anguished, fervent prayers?

When will these deaths end? 

How loud must we scream?

How often repeat:

This cannot happen

Again.

February 14

Flowers quickly fade, 

beauty slowly grows dimmer, 

still I will love you. 

I Do Not Miss You

I do not miss you.

I do not count the breaths 

that have lodged in my throat 

since I have seen you, 

do not see your face- 

impossibly- 

in a deafening crowd, 

do not hear you 

call my name in the 

midnight black. 

I do not miss you.

I have not curled 

myself together 

to feel whole, 

have not buried my loneliness 

under sheets too cold and 

drinks too strong, 

have not written your name 

in the palm of my 

empty hand.

I do not miss you.

I will not sit 

and wait for the doorway 

to darken, 

will not hum, 

unbidden, 

our silent tune, 

will not answer for you 

when I cannot stop the questions 

from bubbling out like 

too much soup.

I do not miss you. 

I think now, 

I never will. 

Anchor

I toss, to and fro;
my whole world is spinning, Love.
Anchor me to you.

Snowshoe Haiku

The snow is so white,

the carcass: black, unsightly.

Death and cold abounds. 

This Year

This is the year:

of doing what we love, 

of feeding the fires of passion 

that have simmered too long inside us, 

of painting each morning sky 

before we roll out of rumpled sheets 

and kiss the ground with our toes.

This is the year:

of singing too loud stuck in traffic, 

of rolling down windows and 

throwing open doors, 

of bathing in sunshine and 

breathing in all of the life 

that blooms around us.

This is the year:

of healthy habits
and happy souls,
of learning self discipline
and self love,
of introducing our true selves
to the people who have
always loved us,
and wishing well
those sorry few who never will. 

This is the year.

Coffee Pot Blues

Maybe I’m bitter like coffee-

Warm, but a little too dark.

I might be so tangential- 

maybe a ray or an arc.

I’m just a little too fragile, 

pack me in peanuts and foam,

maybe I just need an address-

Somebody please, send me home. 

Marshmallow (Title by Penelope James Bruce)

It is too much- 

this distance 

between us. 

My arms 

have never 

been as long 

as yours, 

and my fingers 

won’t stop 

reaching for 

your warmth. 

Do not keep 

sending me 

away, love, 

I cannot bear 

the weight 

of this loneliness.

Fire

You are the fire:

wild and all-consuming,

I am left as ash.

Post-Truth

If, 

in your travels, 

you ever find a world 

in which 

I do not 

desperately, 

achingly, 

blindly 

love you, darling, 

do not stay long. 

Swim across the sky, 

fly through the oceans, 

climb every valley and 

descend to the highest peak, 

but do not make yourself 

a home there. 

No good can come 

from a place 

so at odds 

with Truth. 

Shhhh...

I tried 
to hide behind 
silence, 
but I forgot- 
my eyes 
have never learned 
to lie. 
They always insist 
on spilling my 
secrets.