The fingers are still hanging open.
Like the screen door.
Like the sentence.
Ready for you to slip
in, close them, finish,
tie up loose ends and
make this have a better ending.
Tag: read
Letter to My Twin Size Bed
I wonder if I will wake to find myself missing the feeling of not having anywhere to go,
not having anywhere to leave.
The Sun Under Our Feet
Germany, July
We ride a lot of trains here.
I always get stuck on the side with too much sun.
My freckles are coming back.
I’m so grateful I don’t have words.
Thought I’d lost them.
My feet are so tired they don’t remember rest.
My soles are in the shapes of cobblestones.
I can point out the cities I’ve crossed through
by the grooves from the rocks on my heels.
Bring them home.
A handful of dust from under each bed
I ever dreamt about you in.
I forgot to buy souvenirs,
too distracted,
but there’s enough sand in my suitcase
to make us a mountain.
Forgive the grains in my teeth
when I smile. This was a summer
I relearned my grin
and it would be too cruel to ask me
to stop.
July 5, 2018
It hasn’t been easy, without you.
I wouldn’t want it to be.
You were the moment that made this year
momentous, and even though it’s
not what it was, anymore,
I’m glad the memory gets to go
untouched. I know I don’t have
the same fate.
Sometimes it’s the middle of the night and I
forget, that we aren’t like we were,
and I’m halfway through a poem to you when
I realize I’m writing you,
yet again, and you won’t know,
because you don’t look for me,
at least I think you don’t,
sometimes the songs on your playlists sound
a little bit too much like
me,
and I hate that it makes me start to hope
you haven’t forgotten, you keep
looking, you maybe find yourself
halfway through a thought of me
before you remember
it’s probably best if you didn’t.
I hate that I don’t quite believe me.
I hate that I don’t quite know
what to do with my hands
when they’re not holding yours.
poetgoes 