On My 31st Birthday (ii) (poem)

On my 31st birthday,
Tom, Marinda, and I
leave our nicknames behind
and climb on to a roof
at MIT. Look out --
there is Boston,
so close, a river's breadth
away. The night is breezy
and hazy but still
clear enough to count the stars.
Marinda points out the Big
Dipper as Tom flops down
and looks up. Feet dangling
off the roof, I talk about plans
for the summer. We are
peaceful together, sober
for now, and reflective.
Later we will sing our way
through abandoned hallways
but at this moment, all I can do
is think that this is a moment
to capture. This is a moment
to keep close to the skin.

Love Story (poem)

What she meant to say
was, "I don't love you anymore."
But what she actually said
was, "I don't want your tomato."
Such a simple shift in how
they eat a meal together
and he knows immediately
something consequential looms.
This is the way love hides
until it is found, dead and rotting,
by a jogger in the morning,
with a rotten tomato
shoved deep in its throat.

Put Aside (poetry)

I’m beginning to believe
I am crazy, that I’ve gone there,
that you are actually right.
I must have done something
to provoke this side of you:
angry, violent eyes, a voice raised
in furious decibels. You are
passive, always have been.
Overeager to avoid a fight.
You are a talker, not a screamer,
a peacemaker, not an aggressor,
but I have seen you transformed
of late. Oh god. It is terrifying.
You say again and again --
you are doing, you are being, you are,
and I don’t think I am doing,
I am being, I am --
but I must be. I don’t know
what else would push you
so close to the edge
only a devil unstabled
like me would
put aside for you.

Letter to Marinda (poem)

Oh, Marinda --
There are so many things
you can learn in a letter
written with spontaneity:
Here is a story I wish to convey.
Here is the stream of side notes,
sometimes scribbled
in the margins. There are words
no one can decipher.
There are depths to the prose
no one can comprehend.
But write it out anyway
and let the pages be shared
with that intimate audience.
Blank sheets of paper, prepare
to be filled and filled
with love --

Must Come Down (poem)

Up in the air -- what
a phrase to binge on
in this era of self-inflicted
chaos. What is so
random about these choices
we make with careful determination?
It's no accident
that plans are made
tentatively -- forever
in the hopes that something
better might come along.
Can't commit my time --
it's just up there.
In the air.
Waiting to come down.

Threat Level: Orange (poem)

There should be a name
for this kind of anxiety --
thick, bogged, damp souled,
half crazed, three quarters
full of serendipity. Do I care,
do I not, and how much?
And how hot? This burn
is cooling after such strange
release of carbonated
froth -- a foaming at the mouth
of the cave of thought.
So stop. Thinking
it's all gonna be ok, well,
who's to say? Who decides
what color goes with what threat
level? I am a terrified woman
inside a confident suit
of armor. Who gets in.
Who gets out. Who
gets it at all.

Stream This Consciousness (poem)

The weather is outside
and there is no controlling that.
Rarely do I fly with birds
or squirrels or ladybugs
but I stare deeply at them.
I like a well-cooked hamburger
on any given night
but I like them best
with you by my side.
If I was a body
of water, I'd hope to be useful
for sailors or sealife
or something super mystical.
What do we know
about these sorts of depths?
I am grounded by whimsy
of swingsets in moonshine
and the legacy of a true story.
Here is mine --->
I was born
I lived precisely this life.
I remain to live more.
But it's only just begun, this natural
disaster chapter, and I'm going to like it
best because it's with you.