I Will Miss You

I will miss you.

My dear wildflowers and wolves,

You have walked more miles

to reach the well than anyone I know.

You’ve earned it.

Drank from life and she has spoiled you in her senses.



Do not judge her

for her wits have no end

She is the water

and she travels alone, yet moves with the help of others.

Be gentle and welcoming.

Howl at the highest moon when she retreats and I will hear you…

Miss you

Call you back

and stretch for the highest mountain to bring you in again.

I will miss you.



The Window

In the mornings she sits perched at the window.

Today, her view of the world is different than the days before.

This morning she sees a small child making breakfast in the kitchen.

The child moves about in a familiar slumber, eyes rubbed open and feet dragging in defeat. Even with his eyes half open, he navigates across the kitchen from site to site with complete trust, leaving every cabinet open behind him.

She smiles almost completely as a hummed laugh.

Processing the moment, she steps away from the outside of that window and wallows.

This window could have been.

But will never again.

The child in the window is a dream

Of what would have been if she had not drove off in the middle of the night. Had she not purchased that flight in the instinct of a fight; vowed to her freedom over a family.

Now, her world has no windows looking out.


I shouldn’t hate him,

I hardly knew him.

There was a time, sitting in his car

When I was sure he would kiss me

I imagined the entire thing:

An unbuckled seatbelt,

A slight twist

The slow slide of his hand under my chin

And his thin eyes

Growing thinner until closed.

I would lean in slightly,

Hands still crossed on my lap

And blush from his actions

Playing coy.

You like me?

We would hold hands for two years

Stay over with each other sparatically

Have our parents meet

And soon after, have our first child.

The storms would be heavy

The beauty would be unending.

We would live in a foreign country for a year

And travel for a few more

Until settling down again

On our own.

But he never did lean in.

Dexterous Hands Pt. 2

Dexterous, dirty hands

Of fear and illusions

Push me in the opposite direction.

Touch me with your calluses one last time before I shed new skin.

Let me read your life lines of color and class; time is running out.

Pieces of you entered through pieces of me and woke up from that dream.

The New Oral History at Hand

And so we transition

Back to oral histories

Until our fingers forget symbols.

We will listen

And share

And never mind the others

And their stories;

Their truths.

We will close ourselves in chambers that echo into soundbites.

Taps of repetition

On your frontal cortex

Until the pains are those you feel comfortable managing.


Do you hear the story

In your hand?

Truth is in an algorithm

And a skip.


Can you see me?

Smiling still

Unready for the years that will inevitably pass before I reveal

The true wrinkles of my frowns

Beneath the painted face

Beyond the tiny lens that always fell upon my face.

Did you capture that?

The nails cracked beneath my teeth

And the flames of burning rage nestled beneath my feet.

You hung the pretty picture of my nape upon the fridge

But for years never asked why I never cradled you in that ridge.

Did you catch the timid pause

Of my spinning in the grass?

Surely you saw the eyes

behind that piece of glass.



Unfold me.


Flip me to the cold side of my pillow

And assure me I am safe and sound.

Nothing goes wrong when you don’t leave your bed.

List all the positive words in your head

And turn.


Unsettled in your settled home.

Rings unbestowed.

Catch a game, watch a show

Avoid the heavy truth:

Your bedrock falls below.



Unfold me.


I was left unwanted.
The coldest forms of cold are only felt from up close. The tingling whispers of a one inch by one inch slap across my face through a tweet or new photo with her. Why didn’t you call for me when you had the chance? Why did you slip her name into my ear? If all the world was a stage, it’s clear I’ve landed right on my face. Laughed at and unwanted here. Land of dust and dirty lies by friends unfriendworthy. Who calls me here? Who let’s me stay?
Gain pleasure from my pain. I never want to see you again and I probably never will. Unless you curse my cursor with your charm and pull me into a spiraling heaven of clicks and clocks until I ask myself, where did I begin?

Oh yes…