How Brief, Yet How Full
How brief, yet how full that first encounter | between you in your prime and me in my | secondhand life. | Hello, treasure hunter, would you like to dig through this box of mine?
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Sober Winter
Waiting on a slow line at dinner hour | air hunger befalls me, symptomatic | of nothing less than a moral panic. | Life’s too short for gas station flowers and boxed wine
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Black Friday
On looking over my harvest field | To see what crop my life might yield | I was amazed to find its state | For I had left it to its fate
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The Domestic Interior
All of this time spent
making and remaking home
in my latest self-image,
into bouquets of dried memories
laid out alive before me;
turning down the bed,
like an envelope full of flowers,
Gathering Rose Petals
to be romantic
to steep in bath water
to float in a cupped hand
to read into
to press in a book and forget
to remember today more than other days
to remember what I like to do
to remember who I like to give rose petals to
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okay poetry 