A Day in Summer, Many Years Ago

sweating bullets
eighty-five degrees
Bristol, Tennessee,
thighs searing on the
baby blue leather seats
the inside paint job is
soft, girlie pink,
but the outside finish
of Pa’s old truck is katydid green,
flying down the interstate
window vents cranked out,
my grandmother’s lead foot
the guide of this clunky Ford,
a sip of sticky Mellow Yellow
a glance back
through big square mirrors,
a ridiculous menagerie
of furniture in the bed,
tied haphazard
with rough, white ropes.

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mere dreams

i heard you coming home

the keys in the lock

the friction of shoes slipping off socks

and flopping to the ground

i said i cannot live alone

winter lights golden the wood

of the floor, the desk, the bed

red and blue flannel throw

over the couch

our house

and i smile

before i lean over

and kiss you

before my eyes open

and the light

fades away

and it is a cloudy spring day

you are far and i

have made you that way.

 

 

Good Boys

July 18th, fooling around with a guy in the insufferably humid summer of 2017, in Jeju Island, South Korea. I was told I didn’t have a grasp on reality that would get me very far in the dating world. But my idealism served me well. A month later I met a good boy. And now he is mine. 

he said good boys don’t exist
spitting his words out like
a forsaken wish, maybe
he is right about everything
that every man is just a member
attached to a body, and a boy
won’t ever think
beyond his greed,
but I have my dreams
my prince charming doesn’t swear
that often in front of me, and he
doesn’t wash his white shoes,
he forgets things
like he forgets to be popular
among the drinkers and smokers
and skirt-chasing Casanovas,
there’s no white horse but
plenty of Taylor Swift,
no shame for our hand-holding
simplistic romance,
late-night calls to discuss
the universe and hamster homes,
and our future music exchanges
earbuds shared on long bus rides
and trips to the sea
late at night,
only to sleep in separate beds
but the same hotel room,
he’s laughing while I write
this middle school
candy sweet nonsensical
ditty of immature proportions,
but maybe boys are good
and get ruined
like I did, and maybe
they want to listen to
pop-punk throwbacks, and go see
matinee movies
with me, too.

The Chemical Components of Bravery

I don’t belong any place,
though any place will take me
for the time being,
one day,
I’ll meet my match and
I’ll learn how to stand
still, until then
I’m just pure insanity
innocence in calamity,
fingers ruffling
the hair of some boy
that barely knows me
for me,
don’t assume
that just because I write
I’m anything but this
drifting figure
holding your body
over your head
and yet
I’m actually so much
more than judgement
of your behavior
your boyish, laughing eyes,
but I’m afraid
to admit it,
so tell me
again
that I’m brave.

Americana

six days ago, I was a better person
and now I know I’m not, I
realize your flat “a’s” and the
words your lips make are probably
unique to the place I left,
and I want to cry, because
the hell do I know
why I’m here
or what I want from you
or anyone else for that matter,
I’m just drifting around
inside my own mind
it’s the 4th of July and nothing
reminds me of home
but these
insatiable, unstoppable,
inevitable lonely nights
and nothing can cure me.