Everybody Thinks It’s True
If things were different,
if things were how I wanted them to be,
you’d have been the first one I told.
You could have celebrated with me,
given me some pointers,
loved all of me. Instead,
I’m sitting on the porch in the twilight
listening to Paul Simon sing
“Train In The Distance.”
In ten days I’ll be in Tucson.
Are you still there?
Are you there?
Are you?
/ / /
5 November 2023
Charlottesville VA
Category: Poetry
Inconvenient
I was telling the truth
when I said
I would love you forever.
/ / /
15 October 2023
Charlottesville VA
Let
The dog is sleeping near the fireplace.
He’s been sleeping there for years.
A long time, really, for a dog.
He’s not dead. I checked.
He was just … overwhelmed?
It was all getting to be too much.
One day he nuzzled up against me
while I was sitting on the couch, reading.
I gave his head a pat and watched him
pad across the room to the braided rug.
He circled a few times, like he always does,
then settled in, paws crossed.
That was three, maybe four years ago.
I still use the living room, but I try to keep quiet.
No loud music, no sharp noises.
I fill his water bowl and food bowl every day.
Just in case.
/ / /
10 October 2023
Charlottesville VA
Sunday in the suburbs:
turkey vultures
eating a dead raccoon
/ / /
8 October 2023
Charlottesville VA
I Skipped “Maya The Psychic”
I raced home to tell you about
the production of Hamlet I saw tonight.
You would have loved it, or at least
you’d have loved that I loved it,
back when that was how things were.
I listened to our playlist on the way home:
“Supersoaker” and “National Express”
and “Stronger” and “The Ballad of El Goodo.”
I skipped “Maya The Psychic.”
Not because it’s not a good song
but because it sounds more like you
than I can usually handle.
Same with Hozier, who has new music out
and we play it on my station
which means every day
I sit there and listen and his voice
is really your voice.
Anyway Hamlet was fabulous
but when I got home it was empty.
/ / /
1 October 2023
Charlottesville VA
First Poem At A New Desk
There’s an orange apron hanging
on a peg next to the sink, which is —
for no good reason other than that this
was never supposed to be an apartment —
in a closet.
I looked at it and imagined wearing it
as I make dinner for someone who’s
coming over for the first time.
On a date, I mean, but then I think:
If I didn’t do that, invite someone over
on a date, I mean, but instead stayed single,
perhaps you’d eventually come back.
I’m facing a blank grey concrete wall.
The desk came in a flat-pack box.
I assembled it with the included
Allen wrench, named after the
Allen Manufacturing Company
of Hartford, Connecticut,
the town where my father was born.
An Allen wrench is also called a hex key.
Will it, if properly applied, free me
from this curse?
/ / /
25 September 2023
Charlottesville VA
Describing A Satellite
For the Earth,
both hands in an arc.
A fist for the moon.
Gravity a rope,
unseen in the dark.
Palms up for the tides,
both high and low,
the hands raise and lower
as they ebb and flow.
The planet spins,
the pull taunts,
the moon is what
the water wants.
/ / /
20 September 2023
Charlottesville VA
The Eternal Question
what do you do
with an excess
of rhyme?
/ / /
16 September 2023
Charlottesville VA
This is a quasi-found poem based on a misreading of an Instagram post by Jenny Mackintosh.
Leave a Commentbarefoot singer:
beating the rain
to the basement
/ / /
12 September 2023
Charlottesville VA
floor-to-grass
relocation program—
“palmetto bug”
/ / /
11 September 2023
Charlottesville VA