the absence of sound (5-6-14)

"A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. [...] whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life."

-Ray Bradbury, "The Fog Horn"

how can so much be contained in a sound?
ten seconds of a song long forgotten,
bringing with it not just a melody,
but a menagerie of memories.
tied inextricably to that brief, happy autumn.
how does a song reminding me of
that brief, happy autumn
evoke not feelings of warm nostalgia,
but a sharp, stinging pain?
the presence of that autumn
a phantom limb; gone, but still felt--
all the more harshly for its absence.
each track of this album I loved
brings only more lonely thoughts.
no longer can I listen to the songs
without also listening to the last conversation we had
the one where everything finally broke
for the last time.
and I knew, this time, it was really over.
If this is how it's going to be now,
No song from the last two years
Untainted by memories of strained, pained
Conversations-- and the lack thereof--
I don't think I want to hear anymore.

i always smile when i see the rain (4-11-14)

because there's something about that
slow quiet melancholy hush
of delicate raindrops
softly hitting the ground in lonely droves
that makes me feel whole again

the redemptive power of the water
bringing new life to tired eyes and hands
and soft rounded edges to all that
is sharp and pointed.

when words are like the rain (3-16-14)

when words are like the rain and
the fields of communication between us are dry,

they erode slowly, imperceptibly
with a lazy wind blowing layers of dust and

pieces of our carefully planted life away.

they break off quietly, without much protest.

an oncoming cloud is grey and heavy with rain,
and I welcome the storm gladly,
arms outstretched, head thrown back,
rejoicing in the downpour,
as the cracked ground below me comes
shyly back to life, green and new.

but during a rainy season; our conversations
hashed, rehashed, and hashed again,
the storm becomes overkill. words I didn't want
to hear the first time, repeated.
they flood, they drown, they choke
what has been so lovingly tended.
they become as meaningless and superfluous as
another inch of water in a flooded, muddy field.

when words are like the rain,
there is power to give hope to a dry land.
there is power to kill what was planted.

as if i didn't know you (3-15-14)

I slip in between the lines and
through the cracks of your words
hearing the catch in your voice;
the mistrust and anxiety desperately fighting to
stay undercover--and failing.

I know you now almost as well as myself
and it's almost offensive that
you think I don't know and instantly recognize
the nuances of your phraseology and intricacies
of the way you say, "nothing," when I know in fact
there is something the matter.

don't you dare try to hide behind
walls you're scrambling to rebuild around yourself
when we have spent so many months
painstakingly tearing them down,
exposing what is true and honest, and allowing
vulnerability to have its seat among us.

it's not as if I didn't know you.
but if you want it that way,
I won't know you anymore.

3.14159265359 (3-14-14)

I've never been a math person,
usually shrugging off my profound lack of interest
in such things as an inability to perform.

Bits and pieces of my math education
come back, flooding in as disjointed memories;
snapshots of a mere moment with no context.
The Pythagorean theorem?
A squared plus B squared equals C squared.
When is this necessary? I wonder, and think
it seems to me it has something to do with finding area. or distance. or something.

These equations memorized and forgotten
as quickly as the last answer was written on the test.

We hold so dearly onto things that we need.
But as soon as they become unnecessary,
their importance fades
quickly and quietly, putting up almost no fight at all.

And as I sit, thinking of how much time I have spent
Needing people who did not need me in return,
I wonder when their importance will fade.
And if it doesn't, what will happen.

haiku #5 (3-11-14)

you yelled it at me
during a crowded concert
i didn't hear you

haiku #4 (3-10-14)

the way the sunlight
warms your shoulderblades in bed
breaks me in pieces

disappointment on 72nd street: a villanelle (3-9-14)

i can't imagine life after today
but i know that i'll continue on
there are no more games left to play

i haven't figured out what i'm to say
denial of your betrayal is forever gone
i can't imagine life after today

there are orders that i will obey
expectations of cooperation counted on
there are no more games left to play

my thoughts, like you, have started to stray
regret and bitterness breaking with the dawn
i can't imagine life after today

you want me to be quietly out of the way
so your guilt won't rage so strong
there are no more games left to play

there's nothing left in me that wants to stay
i have finally tired of being your pawn
i can't imagine life after today
there are no more games left to play

portland (3-8-14)

the softly falling rain

simply causes me to flip my 

hood up over my soggy hair

and keep walking

making it work (3-7-14)

making it work
might require me to
let go of my strongly felt
sense of entitlement
and welcome the
slightly terrifying impending unpredictable
adventure that awaits

seattle (3-5-14)

the gray sky flattens the 

landscape, making

the fringe of pines look

tired, a bit defeated. 

the rain-soaked pavement 

dips into unexpected puddles

my feet don't try to avoid. 

the moss along the sidewalk is

vibrant and alive, soaking in the rain. 

though uninvited, it thrives.

I could live here. 

This rain, this cool. I could grow. 

easily (3-4-14)

how easy it was to

fall in love with you

how easy it will be to

fall out again. 

haiku #3 (3-3-14)

that familiar smile
the way your eyes crinkle shut
your laughter echoes

haiku #1 (3-1-14)

impatient for spring
restless after wind and snow
longing for some warmth

forgo forgetting (2-28-14)

the problem isn't the memories

s  l  i  p  p  i  n  g                                    

                                                           away

stealthily,
            quietly.
                    (almost) imperceptibly.

the problem lies in the
deliberate choice to

forgo
       forgetting.

because then you are 
choosing to 
                                                                hold onto regret.

east of eden prairie (2-27-14)

this midwestern slump has taken its toll.

damp and dreary skies above a lonely town,

the flat and frozen fields begging me

to escape to a place greener and more alive.

my body sags under the weight of

a winter heavy with snow, spent indoors, sighing. 

trying to disentangle the tendrils of longing and confusion;

to find shelter in this tundra. 

gone are the days when i tried to be who

i should have been before, with you. 

my arms frozen mid-reach, towards the cold sun.

when, realizing too late that its warmth would not touch me in time,

i stopped.

i am the one who i was before you,

and who i will be long after these icy

memories have sunk below the murky surface.

i am the one who will be who i want to be,

not who i want to be for you because of your

terrifying silences; storms of apathy and indecision.

"and now that you don't have to be perfect, 

you can be good." (john steinbeck, east of eden)

the lonely sea's horizon (2-26-14)

the horizon is elusive.
though it appears i could merely reach
out and run my fingers along the edge,
i cannot possibly fathom the distance.

it dawns on me that there is no horizon.
merely the appearance of one,
which moves swiftly further away
the closer i get,
and is as unreachable as tomorrow.

the lonely sea, empty and gray,
invites me to a most remote loneliness
with the allure of the horizon.
beckoning me to wander just a bit further.

i imagine myself becoming a smaller
and smaller speck,
my features slowly blurring together into
one unidentifiable, indistinguishable dot.
and then gone.

the lonely sea's horizon swallowing me
as i finally find the edge.  

pine trees (2-25-14)

sitting in this dimly lit and
crowded bar, surrounded by
friends talking loudly, happily,
sipping slowly on a gin and tonic--

I am immediately reminded of pine trees.
this juniper taking me away from the din
and into the peace and tranquility of
a twilit forest, the soft hush of a breeze
the only sound disturbing my reverie.

I sip, I breathe, I sigh.

the last full week (2-24-14)

it's getting down to the end, here.

my mind is drifting far past the
dirty, snow-covered ditches and
well-trod, icy paths to warmer climates.
to mountains covered in green.

to coffee shops abuzz with the clatter of dishes
and the warm, welcoming smells of fresh brews.
to that well-deserved shaking off of old winter weariness
in exchange for some springtime adventures.

to leaving without a look back.
not out of spite or regret, but with excitement.
knowing that each new day and each step forward
reveals something about myself
I hadn't taken time to realize.

this last full week, it's going to go quickly
and then it will be over
and then i will be
gone.

choose something (2-23-14)

you have to make a choice
it's time now
you have wavered long enough

as if it's that cut and dry
black and white (no grays).
easy to say okay, i choose this
and walk away, no regrets.

regrets will loom heavily above
no matter the choice, no matter the outcome.
the what-ifs will swarm as incessantly as gnats
in a hot midsummer afternoon.

but still. i must.

untitled (2-22-14)

it's almost over.

your time here is almost up,

enjoy it while you can.

it's almost over.

this cadence looping and repeating

smashing against your skull and along your nerves

out your fingertips and toes.

it's almost over.

it's almost over.

some sense of nostalgia or regret

or maybe a bittersweet sigh of remembrance

would be appropriate

but all there is?

relief.

it's almost over.

it's never all or nothing (2-21-14)

sunlight shining through my window
i stop and turn, confused
as i hear the slow onrushing of rain
and though the light is warming the
small oblong patch of kitchen floor through
the slightly parted curtains, there is in fact
rain.

my thoughts have become a day like today.
quietly illuminated by a warm and welcome winter sun,
minding their own business.
and then, unexpectedly, almost impossibly, comes
rain.
we are never quite as far away
or quite as safe from it as we believe.

but i have chosen to embrace this
closeness, this intimacy.
rain only dampens when you let it.
come in, rain. crowd out the sun and pour.
i welcome you.

disconnected (2-20-14)

like a game of telephone

the end result is never what i meant

but words laced with nuance and implications

and unsaid intentions

have left you suspicious

and i can't blame you much.

absolutely uninspired (2-19-14)

there isn't a single solitary
interesting thought or witty allusion or clever image
wandering through the dusty ghost town of my mind.

today is one of those days.
mind filled with indescribable, unformed red anger at the morning alarm.
and gray gray grays during the afternoon doldrums
and a nondescript, depressing sort of taupe by the end

all the coffee in the world and all the
binge-eaten carbs in the state of Nebraska
don't seem to be improving anything at all.

this poem doesn't seem to want to end.
or have a point.

today. is one of. those. day.s.

tuesday blues (2-18-14)

i refuse to become jaded
turn a deep and mysterious shade of green
from the hurt and resentment and discontentment
that springs from within me.

these tuesday blues are getting me down
but i will not kowtow or allow myself to succumb
though numb from trying to pretend it doesn't sting
putting that brave face on again and over again

moments when i stare at the wall with the
fierce hot tears pushing pulsing behind my eyes
the whys bubbling closer to the surface
than i would like to allow them to get

so take a deep breath and give allowance to the blues
pay them their dues. and keep moving.
it's got to be harder to live that jaded shade of green
than to shrug off the bitter and pay the blues their tuesday dues.

peccadilloes (2-17-14)

that natural tendency to   s  t  r  e  t  c  h  the truth to
fit the situation at hand
instead of stickingstrictlyto
the truth

the uncanny ability to shirk all
real responsibilities in favor of other things
and rationalizing it away perfectly.

the unparalleled talent of seeing
all the worst angles
and most negative perspectives of
any situation or person or thing

the bent towards drama
and dissatisfaction
and antagonism just to see how far
I can go and how much
I can get away with

you have seen me in my selfish glory
lying in the shallows of my own foibles

and here you are still.

saturday leftovers (2-16-14)

rumpled sheets and dented pillows

the air is still and close

breathed and re-breathed for hours

the air is still and close

looking across the table at each other 

a thousand miles span the gap

a few haphazard halfhearted words

a thousand miles span the gap

the promises of Friday have gone

what's left is stale

how has it already been a year?

what's left is stale

those blue eyes so familiar 

no one else can be who you are

the dis       connect a glaring gaping thing

no one else can be who you are 

the air is still and close

a thousand miles span the gap

what's left is stale

no one else can be who you are.

one of those days it just doesn't make a difference (2-15-14)

what you choose to do

determines everything and nothing

it's all meaningless

and it all hinges on you

no pressure

it doesn't matter too much

what will be will be

what won't 

w o n ' t 

what was taken from you does not define you (2-14-14)

silence scatters thoughts like pebbles
clattering down the rugged chasm into

the river as it roars through the home it hollowed.

the empty space crowded with
the endless possibilities of what could have been

this pain of not knowing
of something unjustly taken
of feeling wronged
of all of what should have been.

slowly abandoned in favor of
recognizing that what is had is far more
tangible,beautiful,meaningful

than all of what cannot be.
or would have been if that
river did not flow so swiftly through that rock
and make the chasm wider with each passing year.

the passerby do not remark on the beauty
that was lost when the river came.

what is seen is what remains.

what remains?

valentine (2-13-14)

no, it's not good enough to shrug,
"singles awareness day"
as if making a joke out of tangible loneliness
obscures the legitimate isolation you feel.

be mine?

full of expectation.
maybe someone noticed me?
an exquisite rose or box of chocolates
will validate me somehow.
money being spent on me
must mean that my living and breathing
and working and crying
is important. and worthwhile.

be mine?

if nothing comes.
a sigh, perhaps the slightest quiver in the lip.
a few well-worn jokes about singleness
eating candy alone, at night.
watching a movie.

and the sneaking feeling that
something is
                                                     

                                                               m  i   s   s   i   n   g .

will anyone ever be mine?

juxtaposition (2-12-14)

the snow along the side of the road
is hard and blackened by passing cars
it's never going to melt.
i sigh and curse each day it hasn't gone
its presence cold and unwelcome.
spring will never come.
though winter's chill is unfailing in its
persistence to overstay its welcome,
soon enough, hope will poke its shy, green face
out of the dirt and into the cool March sunshine.
i can't remember what the trees look like with leaves
i think to myself as i wander through skeletal remains
of formerly glorious oaks, shivering and gaunt in the wind.
but that is reason enough for me to secretly thank the winter
for its freezing winds and bitter cold
for the snow piled high and the gray, clouded skies.
just when i have no memory of spring
and cannot imagine it ever being beautiful and warm

it arrives.

and that is why i love the winter.
without it, i would not love the spring.