Skip to main content

Return


               
Never mind letters to the dead.
What of missives written to the distant, transparent living? 
Questions to distracted mothers who whistle. Regrets 
to thought-furrowed fathers. These
are the forgotten, sweet tooth promises, piñatas
and childhood exhalations.

Old yellow pencils chewed to a scribble – I miss you –
longing that fails to find anyone, anywhere. Cousin
on an East Texas oil rig. West Coast brother in a band. 
Sister who swears she is happy. But adjectives spill,     
            bruises,
            sticky midnight-blue paint
            poured down your windshield.

The mystery of a boyfriend who when broken
sets fire to things.

Remember the inky tension of ash that smudges
your fingers when you reach in to align 
typewriter ribbon.

Remember the cool metal return and the sound
of carriage that rings a fresh new line.

Begin again...

 (from The Shape of Caught Water)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vessel

Inside I imagine puckered cups of butter   cookies nested    in paper that  releases a sigh   But instead there may be fiction   within   wishes never reciprocated   Playbill of redundant arguments   One black glove    found fraying   This vessel on an emptied  table   solo     temptation is labeled with  another’s name   Guarded initials as if carved in melting snow     A tool unsuited  to the task of   prying open  Not yet valentine
8 comments
Read more

Shameless Early Promotion

My poetry book, The Fiction of Stillness, is available for pre-order now on Barnes and Noble. Official release date August 1st, 2024. Here's a taste: ... The table is smooth and round              symmetric         The chairs are haphazardly placed at the end of this day      I have breast cancer I say into the receiver   [communities must] pool resources   How to produce the sounds of the imaging                report into sentences that resonate with months of postponement weighty contrast on my right side   computing and comparing IM ratios for greater insight                          not sufficient to prove the efficacy of screening   ...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Matter of Travel

Solstice, 2019, for Tracy 1. And cross borders we do often without leaving our houses. Our bodies dream of gardens. Our hands flutter as feeling exits as we press hard against the solid entry door.  I type the names of cities. My search reveals rivers,  airfares, temperatures  in July. 2.  Seeking sleep, I am transported through music piped into  tiny earbuds. While on an island my father has two seizures  in the night. His ten children fly to one another with cautionary fright, typing. Time zones vary from each cell phone exclamation. Two sisters, you and I, raise questions that barely touch down  for others  but I witness you. 3. By morning we’re assured was merely fainting, and I reconsider change of plans. No emergency to rush to his quiet side. I walk no farther instead to this table for eggs, an English muffin. Arrive inside my individual conclusions. Concern that happin...
7 comments
Read more