Someday

Someday you will wake up to the light peaking through your blinds

striping the walls and her face golden, cradled on your chest

and you will kiss her

and you will feel it

and she won’t tell you that you are the only person who has ever kissed her first thing in the morning

and she will feel it, too.

Glovebox

Prompt: write about the contents of the box you will leave behind when you die.

[written in 2012]

 

unlabeled

carelessly attached to the remnants

of my first car, totaled

never to be driven

handle hanging off to display

things you’ve seen, distant

as if through glass walls

windows

and if you ever get the nerve to touch them

they will speak in softest tones and

life I couldn’t finish and in

my first car, totaled

never to be driven

a glove.

crumpled behind proof of insurance and

crusted with dried tears and granola bars

because I was sad and hungry and ironic and

gloves kept the space between my knuckles warm

when you weren’t sitting in my passenger seat

clutching onto the coat hook every time I turned down unfamiliar streets

for the sake of getting lost

a map.

for when those times getting lost and adventurous

turned into sticky turmoil

and we stopped recognizing the sidewalks and yellow lines and

tomtoms are too mainstream

we craved our front door opening

my favorite cd.

shattered like mirror sprinkles

on the dirtiest cupcake

reflecting the dustiest cobwebs and

your sweetest eyes

music never to be played

in the radio of

my first car, totaled

never to be driven

a love note.

eighty pages long- a love notebook.

each line written to somebody different

apologizing for my sudden absence

apologizing for being unable to accept replies

I’d been writing this for years should something tragic happen

and it must have

a blue traffic bump.

indicator of fire hydrants

helper of steady extinguishment

picked loose from the friction of heavy truck tires

thieved from communal safety by my envious hands

to sit in the cracked compartment of my glove box

I wish I’d ever been able to assist like that pathetic reflective blue square

stickers.

from the lady at the bank

in case you wanted to re-live our childhood together

and stick them on the windows

just to watch mom scrub them off

so we could smell the sweet orange of a chemical cleaner

used for things like removing stickers from windows and

taking the blood out of the fabric used to make the car seats of

my only car, totaled

never to be driven.

Puppeteer

[written in 2013]

My marionette.

His lips and cheeks painted pink to make him lifelike but inside he’s hollow.

He tastes like bubblegum and is good for a game of footsies-

a reminder that cold feet is more than a physical condition.

You can’t trust what he says is genuine since he’ll say anything I tell him to.

Do anything I tell him to.

And I can’t keep this up anymore.

I’ve told him I’m not good at this heartbreaking business, but he says this is love.

This is what love is.

He says he feels free.

He says since he’s met me, he’s got no strings to hold him down.

But I’m just playing with the ones that hold him up.

What I am

I am poetry scribbled on post-it notes littering your desktop.

I am campfire smoke soaked into curls tickling your chin

I am sprained backbone, stuttering at the microphone, forgetting my lines quite often.

And piles of books pushed into the shelf all summer

I am untuned piano keys that make beautiful music

I am the raging fire of a candle wick

I am a great story with a terrible ending

And I will always be too much for you.

 

The Night Sky

When you decide to fall in love with me know that

I have been the night sky for as long as I can remember

Hosting more darkness than light

My thoughts, a constant, quiet wind

My body, endlessly untouched

When you decide to fall in love with me, love me like the moon

Do not take the night, just make it easier to see

And know you’d better come with the will of a shooting star

Or do not come at all.