24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The room is empty without you here
The music is dull without you near
The world has lost its luster without you dear
I wish that you were here.
Without your presence everything is austere
Without your laughter there is no cheer
Without your voice the silence is clear
I wish that you were here.
There is a chair in the room where you lingered
Rubber ducks stacked on a mat
The sunshine streams through the bare window
I really wish you were here.
Sitting in a forgotten greenhouse
Watching the rain fall in sheets against the glass
I can’t help but wonder
How it feels to stand in the storm
In my memories
It is always summer
Sticky hot and sickly sweet
Bursting with life in every corner
Does anyone still take the time
To step in a metal boat
And row out to the middle of a silent pond?
The water is warm and deep
And will welcome you if you ask
I hope that those who’ve taken our place
Reach their hands into the dirt
And let the toadlets jump between their fingers
The Nest
Is it really any different
than swallows making a nest?
the huge life altering decisions
made in a heartbeat
as well as the insignificant ones
that we pondered forever
straw intertwined in the unique
way that reflects the two of us
our life is mostly made of
little things like tea in the morning
stereotypical me reading the paper
stereotypical her reading a book
with a backdrop of hummingbirds
buzzing to and from the feeders,
neighbors mowing their lawns
sprinklers on Sunday and Thursday
Some encounters we’ve had
bring floods of imagery
no one else would know
just saying someone’s name
might bring a laugh or shudder
about someone once so big
that no one else would know
the nest stood strong
through wind and storm
and at times
parts of it blew away
to be patched in a new way
and the things…
stories in everything
a lot of stuff much more than stuff
but no one else would ever know
There’s plastic fruit in a glass container
in the entry to our house that was my mother’s
and she’s who I see when I look at it
There is art and clothes and plants
in which we each see the other
that richly fills our space
A house, garden and life
that are pieces of straw
uniquely put together
in such a way that
only the two of us
could ever
have done.
final boxes are stacked in a van
an almost empty home stands
unaware that its inhabitants will leave
tomorrow. on a clouded, gray morning
gutters will fill with rain
no one will notice when leaves fall and clog,
and water leaks through the roof
and no one will notice that the token of this home,
a small flower picked by their child,
was forgotten. a small yellow thing,
that now lies, crumpled, on a bedroom floor
The neighbors
across the street
are building a house
made entirely
from cinder blocks.
The workers arrive
promptly at 6 AM,
and soon the air
is filled with
the cacophony
of hammers and drills.
A Great Dane lopes
around the perimeters,
staring through the
chain-link fence
with an expression of
prolonged anxiety.
I guess this is what
they mean when
they talk about a
neighborhood renaissance.
cw: none
It learned how to use wings to fold origami
out of thick paper.
The canary doesn’t remember how it first learned,
just that it knew
that somehow, it needed to be useful.
Now, it writes its own words onto parchment
made out of thick black ink,
pressed from berries by its own feet.
And then it folds the papers up into something beautiful:
it is a mimicry of what other things
the canary sees.
A whole entire life fits into a box
The house is empty now
And I await the future
A future of deep regrets
But not by me
A future of relearning a man
The way he walks, and talks
His idiosyncrasies
I have always loved the man
But the real struggle is to admit it
To admit I have missed him
Longed to be with him again
I don’t know who my father is anymore
But now that my past is packed into boxes
I suppose my only purpose and my only home
Is him
I’ve waited here forever.
Cold, dark, dank,
I’ve waited here a year, or maybe a week,
a voice hushed by the riverbank.
Long gone, long silent.
They never saw his face,
how the light shaved him into less
and the night gave him body, depth
and monstrousness
that took me away and left me here,
breaking apart, rotting away to nothing,
caught in the currents and the low pull
of long and restless slumber.
You bloomed like the sun
A small speck that took over my heart.
Wailing, I heard you whisper in my ear:
It’s never okay. Let you hair shine,
blown throughout the wind. Scatter thoughts,
petals left untouched. He loves me,
he loves me not. But when the sun falls
know it’s only on the other side.
The coffee pot’s empty!
Oh, what a tragedy!
Who could that monster be—
To empty the pot and not make more coffee?
And right there!
A clue I find
That would lead me to
That inhumane fiend
Grease on the handle
I think I know who it is
The preposterous being
Eating fries while stealing!
No more evidence is needed
For right there he is
On the couch, munching away
Watching game while sipping on MY COFFEE!
Brother, I warned you plenty
Now prepare to pay for your sin
With your life, I say
As I yell for mum to come and see
And in she comes with a broom in hand
A solid weapon ready to strike
As she asks menacingly…
Who drank all the coffee?