Indie Author

Finding & Creating Beauty in Unlikely Places

Date: May 23, 2017


I keep thinking
I’ll make something meaningful
out of this
a little beauty for ashes

I walked the Appalachian Trial
this past weekend
crossed your road
J asked
“Do you know where you are?”
I’m in the wrong May

I wanted to go back
to the one where you
pointed out the path
for us
“The Appalachian Trail
runs through there”

I wanted to walk until
that road veered into
broken asphalt and dirt

I wanted to find last year’s
May there I wanted to do
what I wanted to do
cotton wrap your skin
fold you into Home

But I couldn’t get across
that double line
fast enough
I could’ve walked til
my lungs gave out
I can’t outrun
this May
fast enough

Jaymes Young:
screw you!
Forget Pandora too
I’m tired out being
cut out of my skin
every time I hear you
and Big Jet Plane
I wanna set fire
to the laptop
and hug the speakers

I rediscovered
Tori Amos
in her randomness
I wish I could
scrape such beauty
from my consciousness

Lyrical fusions
tethered to nothing
then she’ll drop that
minor note wrap
God’s fingers around
my throat
There must be something

I’ll sit through five minutes
of Baker, Baker nonsense
for one moment of raw truth

I’ll hold my breath through
God knows how many months
of silence
luminous truth
one I still love you

even if it’s just
an echo
bouncing off
the canyon
last May
was shoved into.

In Between

I remembered when
a hand reached around
this door frame
warm fingers over mine
like I
was something exquisite
to touch

I remember when it didn’t hurt
this much to stare down a
wonder if I’d see you

When I didn’t dread
locking eyes with her
a face so like yours
now I can’t shrink into
corners far enough to

I wonder
how I was good
to anyone this
despite what they
tell me

Grief persists
whether or not the
blame is assignable

The Void
won’t fill
where only

It is a heavy
you’ve taught me
something new
How we hope
because we have to

How I’d just as soon
remove an organ
as recollections
of You

My love
for you
a voice box with
no lungs
still singing

Thoughts of you
elbow into
every quiet space
I pushpin them to
a thrice-opened wound

Too full of the loss
of You
to feel anything
but ocean floor
When I remember.

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