Pantone 346, 360

May 9th 2024

I have never seen eyes so green

since the day that she passed.

They were the kind of eyes that

pull you in and draw you close,

making you wonder about the

mystery of her mind. She was a

curious thing, and rather smart.

I remember the way her paws felt

when she stepped upon my chest

before nestling down to sleep.

Her purring was reassurance and

her warmth was a kindness unlike

that of any human being. She was

a healer in every sense of the word.

But, no one is a healer of death,

and no creature can outlive it.

So I dream of the last moment,

night after night, and I search

for her among a bed of lilies.

But when the morning comes,

she has withered away and I must

lay her body to rest once more.

Leave a comment below with your thoughts.

As a Sapling

April 15th 2024

Well, I had sat there counting the rings

that built the tree for quite some time,

my fingers following them, circling

around and around in a display of tan

and brown rippling across the surface.

Apart from the robin prancing about,

it was just the stump and I, there in the

place where the oaks once stood as tall

as the bright blue skies. And as I sat upon

the surface, we mourned the years we

had shared, now blown about and lost

in the chilled northern winds; for of

the twenty five rings that built the Old

Oak Tree, not a single one was spared.

Feel free to leave a comment below with your thoughts and reflections.

Somewhere in Indiana

April 9th 2024

I woke from a mid-day nap

to an oddly quiet darkness

where the only evidence of life

was in the sound of the inhale

and exhale of my own breath.

I stood to my feet, reaching

into the air before me, but my

hands came up empty, and I

began to wonder, desperately

and endlessly, where on earth

the light had gone. It has left

us, was my only conclusion.

Which, for a moment, was true.

An then, a mourning dove began

to coo and I froze in place,

wondering where he perched,

until the shadow of his feathered

head bobbed beside me. A sliver

of light had begun to split

through the atmosphere, filling

the space around me, as the

second rising of the sun breathed

life into the lungs of the sparrows

and the plants that unfurled

new leaves and the dove, who

still continued to sing. I looked

upward and then at my watch.

Three-eleven. And then we

danced, the dove and I, with the

rhythm of the sun and the moon.

In Life and Death

Stagmomantis carolina

March 28th 2024

I once found a praying mantis, colorless, between the slats of my deck, blending in with the worn, weathered wood beneath my feet. This is where he laid to rest.

I collected him up gently into my fingertips, his wings splaying out in the cool breeze, and brought him into my home, where I pinned his fragile wings and corpse to an old bit of canvas.

This is where his body now rests; in connection and healing and life, behind a fragile piece of glass.

Feel free to comment your thoughts below!

Sunshower

March 23th 2024

They were quiet in the night

as the rain trickled down and

dripped from the branches upon

their homes - drip drip drip -

but they chirp and sing and

rustle their feathers as the

morning rises to take its place.

Their calls are for the daytime,

for the sun and the rain are lovers,

bringing forth the colors of April.

Leave a comment below with your thoughts!

In The Meadow

February 29th 2024

I no longer wish to grapple with the chill that hovers in this place as the familiar space lays dormant, nor do I find companionship with the icy crunch beneath my feet as I wander to and fro. If my memory serves me well, and I suppose that it must, I once lay here in this place, comforted by the soft strands of newly-rising sprouts, decorated by an array of yellows and greens. I remember the way the young spring grass tickled between my toes. I remember making friends with every living being that found its way into my sight, for they seemed to recognize me from another life. And, something about today has ushered my mind into a closeness to this place, as if I could reach out and touch it. So, I wait patiently for its arrival, as do the worms who dig around beneath the surface and the fawns who munch upon it. May we enter The Meadow together again, as we once did in time gone by. May a space be prepared for us to stay there for more than a lifetime.

Rebirth

February 24th 2024

Shout at the naked ground

and into the frigid air

until the barren earth reflects

the echos of your tongue

as they seep into the soil.

Surround the tulip bulbs

and beg them to stir from

where they sleep, far in the

the depths of formations

below our weary feet, and

command of them a new

beginning. Arise, all you

sluggish seeds from the place

he has preserved you, and

spring forth in a colorful

display of his magnitude.

Awaiting Spring

February 14th 2024

The amber-brown of wilted stems

is staring back at me as

I sit on a rock beside the garden.

I thought springtime had arrived,

along with the budding of new leaves,

but perhaps I was mistaken.

The facade above unsettles me -

a sunny day with nothing to show for it -

and if the cold of winter still exists,

then I speak sternly to the sky.

Come and cover me,

you cunning clouds,

and do not break until

the world around me blooms.

At Least My Back is Straight

November 5th 2023

One moment, can you just, I mean,

I just need a second to tie my shoe.

No, but really, I would appreciate if

you did not look at me while I do it.

See, I cannot touch my toes. No, really,

I cannot. They are quite far to reach,

don’t you think? Or maybe it’s just me.

Next time I will bring shoes that do not

require tying, so I do not have to tie them,

self-consciously, while you stare at me.

I am not a subject of your curiosity,

and I never will be.

I Forgive You, Someday

November 2nd 2023

Someday, you will forgive:

your tongue for the things that it said,

your mind for the things that it thought,

your body for the things that it did,

your actions for the way that they hurt others,

your feet for how far they wandered,

and yourself for the time that you wasted.

It’s okay if today is not that day, as long as your someday is sooner than you think.

If you wait too long, you will be forced to forgive yourself for the time you spent wallowing in unforgiveness, too. Nothing creates bitterness, anger, sadness, or isolation like unforgiveness.

You deserve to forgive yourself.

Even if it’s someday.

When You Bloom

October 4th 2023

I reach upwards, my fingertips brushing against your face, as a new petal unfurls along your cheekbone; a hibiscus bloom in late summertime. It lays delicately in a rosy-red display upon your skin. I begin to wonder where you came from, for I seem to only remember the green of your leaves as the seasons came and went. Could it be that you are proof of the intricacies that time reveals to us?…

…for from your eyes spread the seeds of growth and new beginnings.

Morning Dew

August 30th 2023

I imagine us sitting side by side

on the peak of The Mountain,

Earth’s moisture soaking our skin.

As the morning sky lightens,

the surrounding fog disperses,

slinking down into the trees,

flowing into the valleys, and

disappearing beyond the horizon.

The sunrise greets our faces,

and I feel its warmth when

I look into your eyes.

There, it seems that, maybe,

somehow, there is something

hidden in the goosebumps

that dance upon our dewy skin,

glistening in the sun.

And that something resembles love.

The Way Things Change

August 1st 2023

“What do you love?”

“Well, I love the way the birds sing into the morning air and I love when a new leaf unfurls in the garden. I love the first few pages of my favorite books. I love the last few pages, too. I love sitting along the river when the mayflies hatch and I love the untouched view from the mountains on the Appalachian Trail. I love the sound of ocean waves on a summer day. I love a storm, late in the afternoon. And…and I love climbing into bed with clean sheets and I love perusing old photographs. I love a home-cooked meal and I love the laughter shared with my favorite people. I love the quiet stillness of solitude…”

“And…do you still love me?”

I hesitate and you study my face. I love the idea of a life without you. You stare straight ahead, just as you always have, and your face grows cold with understanding. We sit this way, unspoken, until the daylight fades into night.

And in the morning, the songs of sparrows encourage me from my sleep, where I find myself alone.

Incurable Love

June 17th 2023

Your love is like a tree;

an oak whose branches were hacked down to make way for power lines, lighting the homes of lonely people, including you and me. Leaning to one side, it attempts to bear the weight of its loss, though failing. In the same way that the limbs were cut and have calloused over and, though resistant to weather, are susceptible to disease, your love is without cure - deadly.

A love overtaken by the elements is an incurable love.

Marcescence

April 20th 2023

I dreamt of a morning, waking up beside you, and of a moment; reaching for your hand, grasping your fingers and pulling you into my chest. I envisioned the warmth of your figure, soothing; like home. Though the day approached in rapid inevitability, I dreamt that we lay this way for quite some time, in welcomed ignorance, your marcescent touch lingering on my skin.

And I forgave you in my dreams.

From Above

January 25th 2023

I stubbed my big toe on the corner of

the leather couch this morning, for my eyes

had not yet adjusted to the daylight. 

By eleven o'clock, it had swollen 

to the size of a ping-pong ball and bulged 

slightly in my old Nike tennis shoe. 

When the clock struck noon, my sock ripped in two 

and the man to my left asked to play a 

game of baseball, though I was unamused. 

At three, it resembled a damn balloon. 

As I stepped out of my car, my foot left 

the pavement and floated upwards. The blood 

rushed to my head as I ascended high

in the sky and the world came into view.

November

November 1st 2022

I awoke in the dead of night with sweat pooling along the edge of my brow. I dreamt of the things you shared with me and in such fine detail that I felt as though the moment was real and we were there together. Although miles now separate us and days do too, I remember you so vividly, so clearly, so painfully…

“…for even in billion parts torture, one part still drips with infinite love.”

~ Shoaib Rashdi in Oblivion's Yelp

1984

October 20th 2022

One early afternoon in late April when the rains came and went, we snuck behind The Old Barn which sat broken-hearted in the far field on Grandad's farm in Dowagiac. Our pale bare feet, hungry for summer's sun, squished in the green grass, soaked with spring rain. I had cuffed my pant legs three times on the left side, four on the right and small stubble poked outward from my unshaven ankles. Muddied water splashed as we wove between rose bushes and dodged broken fence posts and soon a dark brown ring formed along the layers of my blue jeans, tight against my shins and calves. 

A light raindrop descended from the leaves of an old oak and smacked against my forehead, traced the edge of my brow, and slid across my temple onto my cheek. Suddenly your footsteps slowed and your presence became silent. I, too, stopped and I dug my toes into the earth as l stood in front of you. You reached toward me, your hand strong against my skin as you brushed the water away with your calloused thumb. You stepped closer to me and I felt your warm breath seeping slowly from your nostrils onto my cheeks. Your lips touched mine and you held them there, long enough for the trees to notice. 

The sky cried and the oaks rang out in soft applause.

*1984 was written in the spring of 2017 and published in a small poetry publication, Poems That Ate Our Ears, later that year.