It’s a Given

It’s got to be summer.
The windows are down.
“Chicken Fried”
or “Brown Eyed Girl”
or something that is
warm, wind-in-air
plastered smiles,
hands raised through a
sun roof
is playing off the radio.

This is my version,
so we’re driving down the Causeway.
And the reeds are whipping
to and fro
and your fingers are locked with mine
hand is raised to your lips,
because you know I like that.
And you let me sing,
you smile when I dance in the passenger seat.

We hit the bridge
the same time as the chorus.
I look out over the river
I’ve grown up
and around
and between from
and thank God for the marshland.
Thank God for the tiny hometown
where I spent summers feeding ducks,
writing on the porch swing,
letting the sun kiss me in all the places
you will touch so tenderly.

And when we reach the curb at my mom-mom’s,
you walk around the car,
open my door
and start singing to me,
as I lead you down the street,
past my church,
holding your hand,
taking you through my childhood,
enjoying a summer day,
realizing love can be
warm, no traffic,
fireflies at the first sign of dusk,
laughter in the
moon light


Rolling Pains

I’m running my fingers over my stomach:
a hill filled country,
a necessary plane.
And I notice the birth marks,
the little freckles given to me from both time
and sheer existence.
I think of how the sun will turn the peach fuzz
that forms a line to my sternum, golden,
I think of how it will disappear with the tan.
I think of how the sun will be the only thing
to kiss my stomach for the rest of this summer.
And yes,
that makes me sad.

Havens (Facts vs. Fiction)

Right now,
there are pillows surrounding three sides of me,
making me a peninsula.
I convince myself you’re one of the walls.
I let myself fall asleep in your imaginary arms.

Right now
I contact you, knowing I’m needy,
and don’t ask for a single thing except a response.
I just want to talk.
But for you that is too much.
I fall asleep in empty sheets,
with extra pillows,
and pray for the embrace of someone.

Right now
My entire body is smooth. All soft flesh
and imperfections that I hate a little less when clothed in more melanin.
My legs stretch out before me, stinging with the bite of sun.
I meet cushions instead of your lap.
I fall asleep
in a bed containing one body, knowing I can’t even keep myself warm.

Right now
I wish I was curled up against some tangible love,
who hates my hundred pillows.
I want to twist my body to face him instead of finding a wall.
I don’t want to be landlocked,
or triple water-logged.
I want to be an island,
a bit of paradise,
but only in his arms.

For Marshall

He had fallen in love
with summer’s child;
perhaps that was his first mistake.

Her greenery withered to shades
of gold and brown, and a boy of autumn
made her his to take.

Left her mid September,
an open hole for winter’s chill
to fill.

Missed her birth in spring,
her innocence lost,
her naïveté tilled;
she became a garden,
sown in her own becoming
and bemoaning,
but never staying still.

He claims she no longer exists,
this summer child whom he had feelings for.
Claims the girl who is taken her place
is not the same one from before.

Summer child,
tell him she is dead,
buried in the fall.
Tell him she was reborn again,
but not now his,
never his,
no, not at all.

May 1st

We are driving back home
from Batsto
and the wind is whipping smiles
onto our pale faces,
drained vessels brought to life
as music tangles around us
and Albus embraces us
on cracked roads that turn to
smooth streets once we cross
county borders.
I am exhausted.
I am sick.
I am happy.

And if you’re one of them then you’re one of me;
And you would do almost anything just to feel free.

When she isn’t sure I love her,
when she thinks I’m ignoring her,
when I can’t look at her,
remember this.


Stiff joints creak
like the familiarity of wooden swings,
blowing in the breeze
in summertime.

Each bruise you leave
upon my throat
reddens like roses before
purpling like violets,
like paint-streaked clouds
at sunset.

remain like sugar upon my lips;
I squeezed a few lemons and mixed them
in water, but somehow the lemonade
wasn’t as sweet
on my tongue.

The air is muggy,
with our heady breathing.
But the covers were cool,
the night before, when our bodies were meeting.

And though I complain now,
Last night,
I didn’t mind your heat,
and you didn’t mind my moaning.

Comedy and Tragedy

You know what’s funny?

the fact you thought I had a clue that you and him were talking,

while he and I were getting together.

The fact you wanted to hit me,

fight me,

and you had no idea about me.

And, sweetheart, the joke keeps going.

Because you met me,

with a glare.

And I knew who you were,

but we were gonna be co-workers.

I don’t think I ever said a bad word about you,

except that you hated me,

and you hurt him.

Because you did,

once upon a time…

No wonder he paid back tenfold.

Ya know, what’s ironic, is one day

after him and I had a lunch date,

I brought him into the tent,

not knowing you were working that day.

And when I was going to pay,

he wouldn’t come up with me.

Kyle said that’s why he knew he was sketchy,

because he was avoiding you.

I told him it was because it would’ve been awkward,

but I realize he didn’t know if you would bring up the fact you and him

had actually spoken recently…

and as the summer progressed,

I remember you came crying one day, begging for closure,

when I had no idea about May.

Not until you told me.

No idea he’d even spoken to you,

because he never mentioned it.

And I should have gotten out of it,

right then, right there.

but I held on.

And when others told me,

you were still in love with him,

I wasn’t worried,

because I and him…we had other

bigger troubles.

And I never would have thought you would come back into his future…

But you know what?

I was pretty stupid then.

Why am I writing this now, 


months later?

Because actually I’m sitting here,

thinking to myself:

I never gave you a reason to hate me.

I was nice to you, cared about you,

and you betrayed me,

for him.

Now girl, it’s time to listen.

Get a grip,

shake him off,

pick up the pieces of your life,

and take control of it.

We are never going to be friends,


And you know this just as well.

I know you still look at my blog,

and my Twitter,

though what’s it to you, who can tell. 

But I’m really wondering,

because now you can look back,

knowing I knew nothing of you then,

knowing what he omitted from me now,

was it all worth it?

And really,

who ends up being the one

who’s laughing now?