grass, skirt, tuxedo, wedding
In wedding on November 16, 2009 at 3:22 pm
Me: “Do you want me to just send you the ensemble [to wear for the wedding] and you go get it? Or do you want to just go pick out your own tux? It’s really up to you, I’m not going to make you wear anything.”
Bob: “So, if he showed up naked to your wedding, you’re not going to do anything about it? I mean, that’s what I’m hearing. You did say you’re ‘not going to make him wear anything.’”
Me: “Heh, maybe I should append that statement with ‘any tux in particular.’ I’m not going to make you wear any tux in particular.”
Dad: “Well, I was going to wear my grass skirt before Bob said anything…”
bedroom, breath, breathing, monster, oxygen, suffocation
In poetry on November 12, 2009 at 3:39 pm
Always out of breath.
The door
left open
just in time for the monsters to creep in.
april, bones, grey, skeleton, sleep, snowflakes, tears, wedding, white
In alive, conversations with you, love, panic, poetry on November 10, 2009 at 1:00 am
Everything that morning was white and grey,
even the plants showed up in their palest
for an April wedding.
My chest bones ache when I wake up,
stretched after a night of being curled
in sleepless blinking.
A man walked up to me with tears in his hands
that were larger than snowfalls, smaller than marbles
“I made these for you.”
Never had my soul held such concord and pain.
