Tag: loss

one thin wisp of cloud

it’s midday.

i empty the used coffee grounds

from the press.

it’s too late now for

another cup.

i carry the

grinds to the compost;

walking barefoot through the grass

the air is thick with humidity

the lawn

feels damp underfoot.

i pause, gaze upward,

shielding my eyes

from the sun.

above me,

one thin wisp

of cloud.

it seems adrift, out of place.

can you see this?

wherever you are,

can you see this?

the shape of the cloud

is so feminine

in shape;

voluptuous, round,

gesturing in a way that is both crude

and shy way.

can you see this?

i feel out of place.

here in the yard,

on the grass soaked with humidity.

can you see me?

wherever you are,

can you see me?

i stand there until

the cloud

melts away into blue,

a rich blue,

a humid blue.

wherever you are,

can you see me?

​

colors

My body holds memories.
I sense time slipping by
through my fingertips.
Sometimes I lie awake
and trace the lines
that reveal my story
in the thickness
of my gut.
or I wander in
my dreams
looking for colors
that belong to things
I’ve forgotten.

time

This is time.
Cedar shingles
tell the story of seasons,
weathered and gray.
an unasked question.
a hint of passion
left unresolved.
Time heals
in scattered pieces.
Small fragments
of a face
once kissed and
now forgotten.
Time is a name,
one called out
in a dream
and unanswered in
waking life.
This is time.
a boy full of innocence
becoming a man
far too soon,
holding steady,
offering shelter,
holding words.
Time hasn’t moved,
only the distance
from my fingertips
to yours,
from my mouth
to your body.
This is time.
a face
aged by life,
wrinkled and worn,
with eyes
that burn with
fearful intensity.
a gift given by time,
Only by time.

a word

When I was a child, I copied
the way you moved
and I would ask,
What should I call you?

I tried to find
a word I hadn’t
learned yet,

a word beyond
what a child could understand.
It was something unfamiliar,

Now, as an adult, I still
find myself asking,
What should I call you?

There are no gestures now.
I don’t understand
That’s what it means to grow older.

This is a shadow,
and this, too,
is part of life.

Do they eat old food?

Is it a chickadee or a nuthatch?
I find myself unsure about this
and so many other things.
The feeder rests
under the overhang.
I hold my breath and stay still as they come,
their delicate beaks
extracting a single seed;
Their thanks seem to glow in the morning air.
I should replace their food.
How old is it?
Do they eat old food?
I feel unsure about this
and so many other things.
If I take down the feeder,
They might think it’s gone and fly away.
It would take 5 minutes
to refill
but to them,
Maybe that pause feels like five hours or even five months to them.
The rain has made them hurry
when they feed.
They swoop in and quickly fly away
as they flash against the gray sky.
I sit quietly, letting my coffee cool as I watch.
These are only brief moments
for me
Yet for a chickadee, it might be a lifetime
Or perhaps a nuthatch
I find myself unsure about this
and so many other things.

the bracelet

It’s no longer about the bracelet I bought for you, saying it was just friendship—the one I said wouldn’t be awkward. And it wasn’t, because I never gave it to you. It’s no longer about the small, delicate box left unwrapped at the bottom of my bag, a box I might leave there for months or even years. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, which feels strange.
I remember thinking, ‘Please let the weather be good so I can catch the one-hour flight.’ Of course, I could take the twelve-hour bus ride, but that would give me more time to think about the stranger I bought a bracelet for. I made the flight; the weather was fine. When my bag came down the luggage slide, I accidentally blessed myself, partly wishing the unwrapped box would disappear, something I wouldn’t want to keep.




empty air

How does my breath
get taken by yours?
When I speak,
you seem to draw out the marrow
from my words.
If my words come from fear,
you take in the shadows.
If they come from longing,
then I am left holding only
the remains of desire.
Is this
how we share?
Breath at the core,
yet I am
grasping at empty air.