Overpass

When I walk past

An overpass

Without a fence

My stomach jumps

In the same sort of

Excited way

Watching the cars

Speeding towards me

Far below

I imagine 

A single movement

And think of

How long it might be

Until impact

How long would it be 

Until someone hit me

My body

Crumpled on the asphalt

Far below

Where I stand

Looking out

Over the overpass

I shudder

And keep walking 

deluge

The deluge continues

and the sun breaks through 

The gaps between leaves

and the wind’s restless branches

tremble with melody

The grass becomes hot

and cools with the dew 

The grass gives to soil

that turns and renews

A blank slate

A body

A world within you

The deluge continues 

and old becomes new

And some things are still beautiful. 

French inhale

I’m practicing my French inhale 

The way that you taught me

And I wonder if you’re still 

Taking depression naps after work

I wonder if you’re still

Getting too wound up 

Over some stupid shit

That some asshole coworker said

I’m practicing love

That I should have shown myself

And showed to you instead

Gave away all kinds of energy

That I could have put into

Being better

I adopted a dog

And I know that you’d love him

And probably have some snarky remark

About how needy he is

And I’d agree

And silently think that applies to you

Or that it applies to me

Tonight

I don’t have anything to say tonight
But I feel like writing anyway
I keep starting and stopping
And starting again
And it’s all shit

When I smile too wide
It feels wrong
When I suddenly cry
I feel tired
When I hear the flat tone
In my voice
The cadence of sadness
I’m expected to feel
I’m just playing the part of grief

I don’t have anything
To say

Sun-kissed

I’m a little sun-kissed.
I guess,
it feels scary to go outside,
After being tethered.

I’m a little numb.
I guess,
ninety-proof daydreams fade,
When your tolerance goes up.

I’m not asking for fearlessness.
I guess,
i’m asking you to surrender,
Accept what is.

I’m getting a dog.
I guess,
when life gives you trauma,
Respond with love.

Fade

Watercolors fade
Dripping down the TV screen
Moving pictures of old movies
racist Westerns

The volume stays low
Reading lips on the TV screen
Lightweight distractions and
casual misogyny

The IV pole stands
Dripping medication
Dropping straight to your heart
improvised nursing

Thermostat stays high
Pumping air through the house
Beads of sweat on the forehead
shaking with cold

Watching you fade
Day after day
The picture on the TV screen
static and grey

Saturated

When the good memories hit
They snap against my skin
like brittle plastic
Sun-bleached and weathered
Tiny shards
Scattered across the lawn

When the good memories hit
Your voice sounds warm and full
like a dad
Not just a father
Your pride
Flowing across the phone line

When the good memories hit
The music plays
like a movie script ending
Sepia-drenched and curling
At the corners
Saturated sentiments

Ghosts

If there are ghosts
Then I live with one
Or maybe more
Trapped in the mantle
Or tapping on the door
Restless and weary

If there are ghosts
And it’s not just memories
Then maybe it’s the smell
Of my thoughts
Instead of the reality
Of your suffering

If there are ghosts
They live inside of me
Barely contained
Blending with dreams
And violent scenes
Playing inside of me

distorted

I started writing my eulogy
On the drive across Nevada
While you were in the hospital
alone,
Because no visitors allowed inside

I changed a couple lines
When I picked you up curbside
And saw your yellowed skin
sickly,
Because the sickness grew inside

I rewrote the whole introduction
As I made you meals
While I wore a face mask
careful,
Because all the world’s a threat

I shifted tone entirely
As I laid on the floor
At least six feet away
distant,
Because you screamed in pain for hours

I put the draft away
When I heard the nurse say
“Stage Four”
distorted,
Because this ends with you.

stolen title

I wake up at noon
have ten cups of coffee
and ten shots of whiskey
before five o'clock

it's life at home
it's life in a new old place
it's life in quarantine

Somehow I find myself
barely able to speak
watching random shit online
trying to feel something

and somehow I find myself
stumbling drunk at two o'clock
but it's five o'clock somewhere
and I'll keep telling myself it's fine

it's just life at home
it's life at a familiar pace
it's life in quarantine

Sedona

we got back from Sedona
on a Wednesday afternoon
you didn't want to talk
to your roommates
so we parked the car, unloaded
all the unused camping gear
and walked along the sidewalk

the rains had come
the past few days, unexpectedly
flooded all the gutters
and the air was heavy
we walked past the elementary
where you run every morning
and I imagined all the children
and their chaotic energy

the park was one big mirror
just a giant reflection
the basketball hoops reached the ground
and shone back up to the sun
the ground had turned to glass
as we rounded the block
and I lost track of what you were saying
watching ripples come and go

we got back from Sedona
and everything had changed
the world had started spinning
much faster than before
so we sat down on the swingset
and sang songs from our childhood
I tried my best to speak Spanish
and you laughed
and I swung higher
and we jumped off the swings
simultaneously

Nowhere

Sugar sweet
Waiting for me
The sun in the sky
And the slightest breeze
Sinking into the seat
Watching the workers
Walk around me
From behind tinted lenses
And the hint of old coffee
Staining my tongue
Nowhere to go
Nowhere to be
Anything at all