Optimism, cut and dried, hanging from the ceiling rafters
sheds its scent as it shakes in the strength of ringing laughter.
This is what my ribcage was, a fountain bright and ocean clear-
the world has given much to me, but taken more than that, I fear.
I feel them still, the shadows of the peace that once I took for granted-
with patience and hard work I know I'll find again that place enchanted.

Waning

The moon shrugs her shoulders
and sheds light from her skin (oh
unspeakable act of rebellion
that they say that it is)- but never
does she abandon her throne, only
closes her crescent luminescent eyes
and sleeps.

Cast

You are one half of six
sugar-spun years of
friendship.


I remember [us
rolling in the snow] wanting
to call [us walking down
the road] you on the phone
and [us talking late at night] how
difficult it was to imagine [us eating,
laughing] your tone
through the texts.


I remember (vividly)
the feeling of [waiting for your
letter in the mail] bone-deep
sadness before [rushing to write back]
leaving for two weeks, holding [the care
packages we exchanged] on to
a small, doubtful hope
that [you visiting me, me visiting
you] when I returned it
would all be [finishing
the second scrapbook
for you, proud] over.


After those
last long months, it was hard to
remember you [weeping to my brother
on the phone] without [fighting
tears in my office at work] feeling
like [sobbing under the covers
at night] crying.


These days
it's still hard,
but I'm
remembering [learning]
how to [how to forgive]
forget and [you] let
go.

troubled water

You can't spell 'damage' without 'dam', the kind we build
to hold back water and ourselves,
which is interesting when you think
that symbolically speaking (in terms of dreaming,
at least) water represents our emotions.
In my dreams I have fought wars 
underwater but mostly there is snow, and
I thought you might like to know that this means I am
damaged too, we are all damaged. We have been taught
that growing up is learning to suppress
and to accept disappointment,
which can't be spelled without 'point' and sometimes
I can feel that too, a bitter edge twisting in my chest.
A perfect example- my colleague wanted so badly
to give someone a second chance,
he truly believed that as time progressed
they would meet his expectations. I stood by
and observed as the inevitable happened- I 
saw the hope die in his eyes, I saw that dying light
crushed beneath hard heels like so much dirt. 
I saw his expression and it hurt us both, that
sharp disappointment.
What's harder to learn about growing up is that
we can't stop,
we must keep going; and although we are
building up our dams we are just as capable
of building bridges. It takes time, but maybe
someone else is also beginning on their bridge,
and reaching out is difficult but
work goes faster when you have a team.
Asking for help doesn't make you weak-
it makes you human, and I thought that you should know
that I'm here, I'm also human.
My bridge is marble: heavy to carry, but when it's complete
won't it be beautiful to see.

memory medley

every thought arrives disjointed- somewhere
there are wires crossing and marbles rolling
haphazardly. i am scattered,
puffs of milkweed on the breeze
or ashes in the sea. i am neither
here no there, i am lost and
i am trying hard not to be scared.
there is a drumming in my head
and a pounding in my spine
(it hurts so much to think sometimes).
memories are mixing in
with snapshots of my dreams-
did i already tell you this, or
am i still imagining things?

full recovery

I could have lied. I
could have covered up the wound,
but I was too surprised
when I woke up in my room, bloody and confused-
no idea how I got there, no clue
where these stitches came from-
but lord! they are poorly done.
I called up my brother and asked him to come;
I ate too much food to numb the ache,
to cover the break- but we are all human
and I only gained weight.
Then like so many others before me,
I bit the bullet. I gritted my teeth,
I got out of bed, I lived through the grief,
and I waited a whole day before crying.

[dream]

a city shot from his chest as he fell
where he died- when the dust stilled,
the empty field had been replaced
with a skyline.
we didn't have time
to find him, we ran like we were told- but
i can still see the sun on that city, shining
bright and gold.

Sibroyalty

she once dug nails into my skin, i
once connected my open palm
to her face, and neither of us
ever thought we'd see this day-
we share ourselves
without animosity.

i have two brothers now but
that is the least of the changes.

people would always say, "you can't hate
each other forever," to which we'd laugh,"oh,
you don't know us!" but they knew
of time, and now we know too.
it's amazing
what a few years can do.

hopeless wanderer

I want to live my life flying 
barefoot through the clouds, staring 
out of windows and breaking the surface of water 
to land. Some say that I leave too often, I go 
walking too much, but 
what is wrong with the arriving? 

The touching down, the pulling up, 
the opening 
of doors and stepping out? Nothing wrong 
I know, to each their own and mine 
is this- I will greet my friends with a smile 
and a kiss, and at the end of my trip-
wash, rinse, repeat.

stop hitting yourself

have you ever been so bored
that you caused yourself small amounts of pain
just because? a pinch on the soft spot
of your arm, nails digging into your palm,
teeth on your lip. and so on.

it is possible, I think,
to do the same thing
with your emotions.
oh, old photos of old flames! I remember
the knife
sliding past my ribs, too clearly
the feeling of letting go. this
is in the past, but here I am-
the knife is in my hands, and
my heart remembers the hurt.



Next I am going to challenge myself to write a sonnet about something again and then one about storms because I forgot how much I love thunderstorms. They are great.