March 27, 2015


You said you'd meet me
behind the stadium,
showing up
in your boyfriend's car,
unlocking the door
to let me in,
holding me closer
than before.
You drove in silence
across the river,
to a secluded place
I'd never been,
pulling me forever
into your dark current,
finally whispering,
you had to get back.
I barely managed
to stumble away
when you dropped me off,
no longer knowing
myself in the mirror,
the day you left me,
standing there.

March 23, 2015


Young mothers shop,
pushing newborns
down the aisle.
Soon they'll be
taking over the store,
knowing they've joined
a special club,
which we don't belong to,
We're no longer showing
signs of life,
not getting our kicks,
like before.
Their carts fill up
with diapers, lotions,
so much more,
while we shuffle
toward the door.
They speak a language 
we could never understand,
knowing far better
than any of us,
just what baby's
looking for.

March 19, 2015

Two Short Love Poems

Gift Box

You left behind
a small red box,
which was supposed
to be yours,
and yours alone.

No, you wrote,
it's really for you;
go ahead, open it up,
you'll see
it's nothing
I could ever own.

There it sat
waiting for me,
months and years
after we were through.

On a shelf,
it's waiting still,
a reminder of how
I once waited
for you.

Dream Lover

In my deep sleep,
a car alarm
goes off far away.
Maybe it's you
heading this way.
Light slowly seeps
into my darkened room,
flooding my sleep,
arriving too soon.

I hear your voice
saying my name,
feel your touch,
it's always the same.
I know you might be
just part of a dream,
I keep telling myself 
I can't see you,
this way, again.

March 16, 2015

Feed Me

feed from my hand,
fly up to my face
when I return,
as if to say,
where the hell
have you been.
They're tiny fans,
moving the air
with their applause,
barely here,
before they're gone.
Now, they expect
to be fed,
buzzing me
if I take too long.
It's as good
as any reason
to still be alive,
making me hurry
to get home on time;
they won't accept
my usual excuses,
just like others
who've left me

March 13, 2015


I don't answer
my phone anymore,
preferring to let it
speak for itself.
No one knows
if I'm really here,
just not picking up,
or if I've gone
somewhere else.
I keep looking
for myself
in the ads on TV,
but I'll never
drive those cars,
drink those beers,
nor could I still love
half so much,
sitting in
some crowded bar,
unless I were
looking for you,
searching near,
and searching

March 10, 2015


My fingers tell me
there's strength in numbers,
a fist being just one
familiar structure
not described
in medical texts.
We're all invisible
on the embalmer's
table, where no one ever
stands a chance.
We live on
in memories of youth,
when we easily slept,
spent in one another's arms.
Now, we're defined by limits,
prescriptions awaiting
immediate pick-up,
doctors telling us
what to do,
until the day we cease
to function.
They say it all
on you.