May Day

the first time we went out
it was late fall
the leaves were past their prime
and the wind was cold

but the small restaurant was warm
and the lights were low.
the food was good,
conversation, too.

we caught a movie
not good first date material
too sad, too heavy
but we held hands through the end
and joked about it being a
mood killer.
in my heart, it felt like spring,
though it was November.

in January, the first day we were
no longer just two people
but two people with each other
in common

we ice skated.
it was unseasonably warm,
the ice was just a little melted
and our skates made deep divots
making moving slow
and hand holding necessary, welcome.

it snowed during the first two months.
we cuddled in the warmth of the house
and the warmth of our mutual admiration,
wishing for summer
planning things like how we would visit each other
go to farmers markets
make the distance work.

the third month started well
but seemed to fluctuate as often as
the weather in the midwest state
we had in common as home.

some days were sunny, warm,
and we didn't want them to end.
but, more often than not,
there was snow,
or rain, or cold wind.

the last day was unexpected,
coming off a few days of
70 degree weather,

it was May Day, and we sat
in the shelter of my car.

i shivered as words i never wanted to say
crossed my lips, begging for a resolution.
i asked for honesty
and cursed myself when it was worse than i'd imagined.
it ended on May Day, unseasonably cold and windy.

it snowed five inches the next day.

Senior Year

these days pass quickly
yet never seem to end
seconds turn into months
which jumble together in memories--
like a drawerful of polaroids--
bright moments, big smiles, candid shots, and poses alike.
trying to differentiate and determine
where the days went
proves difficult.

oh, the days pass quickly and quietly
even the loud ones whisper as they end.
the ran falls, blurring together things we'd never forget.
the sun shines, leaving burns
and memories of hours passed.
the leaves fall and bury the
things i think walking past them.
even the most important thoughts lie
deeply hidden under a blanket of autumn.

the sparkling snow freezes and
preserves winter excitement
while day-to-days get lost in the shuffle
of boots in slush and hats over
red ears and mittens held to icy cold lips--
leaving those muffled conversations
forgotten over cups of hot chocolate.

even the courageous spring moments
found amongst the brave budding trees
are lost in much-appreciated sunshine
and blankets on the grass
and laughter.

the days pass quickly and bruise as they brush past
leaving a small pang of regret
mostly overshadowed by feelings of love,
life, and excitement for all of the
tomorrows holding so many promises.

the tomorrows pass quickly, too
and life goes stealthily roaring by--
lost in busyness and boredom and blahs
lost in smiles and sadness and sleep
lost in those days, just moments really--
strung together like a
rosary--and, when looked at as a whole,
reminiscent of the sacred,
fleeting beauty of life.

and those times, those days, those years
that lasted forever
have become yesterdays.

Crying, Walking in the Rain

there's nothing poetic about crying in the rain.

the splashing, icy drops do less to obscure your heartache

and more to magnify your pain.

there's nothing romantic about the walk.

the rainy one, where you are crying,

stepping in muddy puddles not visible

through the cruel mix of water and tears.

it's not like a movie, the rolling thunder.

it does nothing to disguise the sound of approaching tires.

his car never pulls along beside you

he never jumps out and embraces you

he does not even know that you are

crying, walking in the rain.

and if he did,

he would say you were

being dramatic.

which might be true, but seems hard to avoid

when the heartbreak pounds as relentlessly as the rain.

and even though you know

countless people throughout all of time

have felt this same

isolation

this same desperation in the face of an

unfathomable storm

you feel alone

and unique in your misery

and every red car that isn't his

is a reminder of just how alone

you really are.

what makes the days better (or, reasons why i get out of bed most days)

1. the smell of a store filled with books--
feeling justified in judging them by their covers--
skipping over the ones with photographs of
movie posters, emblazoned with the claim,
“NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!”
(somehow cheapening their literariness)--
thumbing through dog-eared pages and
opening crackling spines like
huge oak doors leading into both new
and familiar places

2. words
because of where they send my thoughts
“rain”--cozy, inside with the sound of thunder
rumbling softly across the horizon,
or on a run, fear of being drenched abandoned,
instead only the sound of my shoes splashing
through puddles and squelching through mud,
water running down my face.
“autumn”-- crisp mornings with the brightest
blue skies filled with leaves fluttering down
to the soft grass,
bright oranges and reds and
shocking yellows flashing on the landscape.
and “lavender”-- because of the way it sounds,
smooth, gentle, and comforting,
like a beloved childhood doll.

3. a hot cup of coffee before an
early morning ride
towards a long day.
the smell filling the car and giving me a
chance to breathe deeply and
calm down before the day launches into action.

4. sinking into bed at the end of the day.
bones, muscles, joints, bruises, thoughts,
and everything that ached, complicated, or confused
all settling down into much-needed rest.

5. waiting, anticipating, and holding sacred certain things--
kissing: for someone who truly matters.
Sunday: as a day of rest, quiet reflection, and worship.
and saying “I love you”: thought many times but
not spoken too hastily,
holding onto those three words tightly,
like a gift needing to be wrapped in
trust, companionship, and commitment
before being given.
stepping away from the world’s tendency to
make these anticipated things unimportant
and giving them their rightful place
in the realm of
what is meaningful
what lasts.

6. you.

Shields

I have seen what will make me happy,

what will finally fill the hole
in my life
that I became acutely aware of
soon after becoming a teenager.

I have seen my height and weight not as numbers
but as enemies. As evil things,
barring me from the happiness of having
the perfect combination of numbers,
that ratio so desired.

I have seen days and nights
(with parties, dates, and approving glances from across the room)
march silently past--
as a young boy watches soldiers.
wistfully, from the outside,
longing for a chance to fall into the ranks.

I have sat as girls with bodies
I quietly envy
tug self-consciously at hemlines
pat discontentedly at nonexistent stomachs
and shake their heads about barely-there thighs

I have looked in the mirror,standing
in the same spot they stood,
thinking that if they--
who took up so much less space than I--
are dissatisfied
then I do not have permission
to ever be content.

I have seen them like warriors--
applying their war paint of eyeliner and lipstick,
slipping shining dresses over their heads
like the frailest of armor,
and holding sequined clutches in front of them
like the smallest of shields.

and
I have seen that though
my heart
tells me that if I could be like them,
I’d be happy--
I have seen that this is
not always true.

I have seen their armor, crumpled
on the floor, their war paint
streaked with tears of broken promises.
their shields powerless to the force
of the night and its demands.

I have seen that
slipping silently into sparkling
cocktail armor
does little to protect from the
sharpness of life's arrows,
and does not ensure happiness.

I have seen all of this, but like a child
surveying a corpse-strewn battlefield
with an ache in his heart,
a deep desire to join the fight,

I long for my turn
to put on the frail armor
to coat my eyes with black and smoky shadows
and to plunge bravely into the night
armed only with a small,
dazzling shield, and a fading
false belief in the power of my
body
and its perfect combination of numbers.

infinity on the way to English 378

i walked to class, and i looked at all the other people
walking to their classes with
backpacks ipods nikes uggs phones out hoods up
shuffling running smiling frowning
looking up looking down talking too loudly not talking at all
each thinking about their own life--

and what homework is due
what show is on later

the fight he just had
her gpa

the divorce

where to eat dinner

why he hasn't called

how much weight she wants to lose--

and I could not help but wonder in that moment

as life after life after life passed me

on that campus in a small town in a small state

in a big country in a very big world

(made tiny in comparison to an unbelievably huge universe

-and who knows what else beyond-)
i could not help but try to imagine

what the purpose and direction and point and joy

of my life would be if not to live for the God

who created the universe

(and whatever else lies beyond that)

and who also created the freckle in the middle of my palm

and the big tree we like to climb

and the way my sister laughs

and i felt small

but also filled with big sadness

for people who do not see there is an infinite bigness

and love to live for but

you have to widen your gaze farther than your own

tiny life-

and see the way the sun sets

and snow sparkles and how

puddles reflect neon lights

and rain drips off pine trees and the

way people really do give their lives

for the right thing and they

fight for justice and

understand the implications of a

forgiveness and love that has no conditions-

and then your life gets bigger

while you get smaller

and okay with being smaller because

you get that much more lost in Him.

William Carlos Williams Experiment

This is a poem by William Carlos Williams:

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

And this is my version (which my father thinks is quite hilarious. i was just writing quickly and this is what i came up with):

thought I’d say

that
I don’t want to leave

but you know that
after what happened
with the serving
spoons

we can’t both stay

here