Sleeping Heart

you held my hand in yours
and drifted off to sleep,
you clung to my arm
like a small child
and closed your eyes,
as the sun set golden
among the green tea hills
and the pale blue ocean,
you clung to me
and fell asleep.

(for April 1st)



they are just whispers but
my heart is jumping in my chest
last night as the rain came down,
the elders gathered
at their television screens
and watched those whispers
travel through song
to heal a broken land,
today the sun shines bright
the birds are chirping and
the toast shop was busy,
when a group of college girls
said “oh, that’s last night’s thing”,
myself and the uncle waiting
for our toast smiled,
our hearts keep beating
our heads keep swimming
with that tiniest possibility-

Moderately Old

The black hole 
Of the 
Where you sleep

The night breeze 
Something sweet 
A peach tree” -Mitski, First Love/Late Spring

I miss you
the elegance of your fearless desperation,
launching yourself
keen to be the bullet
which buries itself
in the heart of your lover, he never denied
your subtle intensity
so you whisked yourself away on
the warm April nights, now the lilacs
bloom among the weeds of
your winter heart, but there is no one
to see their beauty
you are me
and I no longer remember
how to love April nights properly,
my soul sleeps in the dead lands
of T.S. Eliot, historical societies, and
my aching heart
only young when surrounded by
moderately old things.

A Little Girl Again

after one week of wandering
I’ve come round to you
a little girl again, sitting
on my bed at dusk
drinking juice
daydreaming, please
just talk to me,
my rainbow manicure
from the orphanage, tipsy
after draft beers
expensive queso
blue skies by the harbor,
the strong smells and loud songs
of a five day market
that went swirling by
in one single morning,
won’t you ask me,
why I’m like a child again,
or who has done
such a thing to my heart?
magpies and eccles cakes
the smittens
repeating again and again
oh, the night is long
I’ve come round to something,
like first, new love
fourteen under the moonlight
refused to be alone
without him,
or summer’s nostalgia
salted watermelons
patriotic rocket popsicles
on that misshapen back step,
swish-swish-thap of my bedroom fan
fireflies in the cool green grass
childhood and happiness.

I wrote this poem today after a beautiful morning at the five-day market, an afternoon playing with kids at an orphanage, and burritos and beer to top it off.  I spent a few weeks in February and through March feeling afraid of the future and doubtful of my abilities to pick myself back up after disappointment to start again. This poem begins with my realization that things change quickly in good ways sometimes, delving into my wonderful day, and finally taking this amazing feeling into some lovely nostalgia about my fourteenth summer (of puppy love, dashboard confessional, and the smittens, haha), and then into my early summer memories from when I was around five or six. I hope you can still enjoy this more personal piece and not suffer too greatly from my lack of inspiration as this challenge wears on haha. 


the violets have cropped up
next to forget-me-nots
begging me to remember
every single day that
my reasons for staying here
have multiplied, all I need
are a few more friends
I don’t think the cherry
blossoms or azaleas
know I’m so lonely,
but maybe you would
understand those feelings,
perhaps this time
unlike a hidden dandelion
which has escaped the
mower’s lazy, summer eyes,
I will be more of a tree
covered in blossoms
a great magnolia
declaring my love to you
without fear.