Category: Poetry

Thief

I’m supposed to be asleep.
You told me.
Hanna told me.
I’m awake, though, with
Australian indie rock
on the speakers
& daffodils on the table.
I fight the critic at night.
Tonight we ganged up on him
& he vanished like
Smeagol’s other half.
I’m supposed to be asleep.
The first iteration of that line
looks longer because of
the short line that follows.
It’s an illusion, though,
a story my eyes tell my brain,
which is a credulous creature
at the best of times.
Now there’s a queer nonbinary
songwriter playing
& I still haven’t gone to bed
because the night is
what I steal back from the day.

/ / /

12 March 2024
Charlottesville VA

Bonny Good Night

He cleans up from the unexpected visitor.
Throws the diced carrots in the bin.
Scrapes the dollop of peanut butter after them.
The bowl of water, untouched,
he pours down the sink.
The dishes done, he hangs his apron,
surveys the room, notices her absence.
Finds a single hair on the screen of his phone.
Then it’s off to bed, alone as normal,
missing the promise of warmth at his side.

/ / /

4 March 2024
Charlottesville VA

Such A Good Day

The thing is:
I had such a good day.
I saw a friend.
I ate tres leches.
I got complimented
on my outfit (twice).
I petted a dog.
I fist-bumped a kid.
I bought a record.
I bought a book.
I ate cold pizza.
I drank a diet soda.
(Pepsi, but you can’t
win ’em all.)
Anyway the point is this:
I had such a good day.
But when I came home,
you weren’t here.
That would have made it perfect.

/ / /

24 February 2024
Charlottesville VA

His Heart

He called them his heart,
not because he no longer had one,
but because she added to its capacity,
made it more expansive,
allowed him to love … well, more.

He called her his heart,
because they loved him, and that truth,
that essential knowledge,
was a solid place to stand
in a world that was constantly shifting.

He called them his heart,
because she reminded him it was there,
that it could be opened to the elements
without the fear that always followed.
She threw open the shade, let in the sun.

He called her his heart,
because they gave him the moss
and the lichens and the bees,
reminded him why the music mattered,
and sent him to sleep with a smile.

/ / /

21 February 2024
Charlottesville VA

I Wrote This For You

I wrote this for you
on the back of a napkin
passed over the bar
with a glass of soda.

I wrote this for you
on an app on my phone,
lying on the couch
during a long lunch break.

I wrote this for you but
it doesn’t matter because
you’ll never know you’re
the “you” in question.

I wrote this for you
to send it to the universe;
like background radiation
for a world in need of love.

/ / /

26 December 2023
Charlottesville VA