poetry

A Mother

There must be a way to both constrict and construct a mother:

Lovesick

A week ago, you bugged me—practically harassed me.

Disaster

I’m a disaster walking
down the street.

Unseamed

Instrumental, we seem, to our own surmise.

Nor the Spud

It wasn’t the senseless loss of my own daily routine

I’m Not

I’m sorry your mother hadn’t the backbone

Muslin

Caress caress caress caress caress caress

Dote

I don’t know if you’ll ever be what I can’t find,

Pulled

Grunge layered on pots I set out in August-

annie

you can’t return the past–

safe

is it safe where you are?

Merry Christmas

It is winter, but winter is not cold; it is snow and cocoa and magic.

10 things you left behind

10 pencils scattered behind my desk, under the kitchen sink, at the bottom of my backpack
yellow #2 ticonderoga (you were too good for mechanical)
erasers gutted from too many mistakes
teeth marks gouged in deep thought
homework not completed

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