Bloodhound
I meant every word. I’m still trying to understand how I wounded you.
Your First Friend
I was your first friend. I think you told me that. But I don’t think you remember me.
Fading
A poem about feeling unfamiliar to yourself, living with regret, and fading as you're forgotten.
She Would Be Meeting Me
She said we needed to meet. I brought a picnic basket, wine, and pillows, just in case. She would be meeting me.
Nothing Can Bury Me
You can drown me, burn me, and bury me. The mistake is believing any will keep me gone.
The Boy Who Never Knew
A dark fairy tale about a naive boy, the bear he raised, and a visit to his sick grandma.
The Work-Study Job
I first saw your name in an angry email to the university box office. It took three promotions, Broadway tickets, and my lowest college grade for us to finally speak.
Blood Clots and Feet
It started with ankle pain I blamed on leg day. Then the pain moved up my leg, and what I thought was another tendon injury turned out to be a blood clot.
The Water Tower Rest Area
A handyman spends his shift fixing what tourists break and answering questions about the giant basketball across the road. Then a Honda pulls up.
Teaching by a Different Fire
A burned out teacher endures years of pointless collaboration meetings before finding a new school, a new team, and a different fire.
The Dimension Behind the Door
I knew what would happen if I walked through the door into that dimension. I knew better, and I did it anyway.
In a Haze
For years, I felt like a passenger in my own life. When I began writing, it helped clear the haze, and I began to trust the memories and thoughts I had dismissed.