Don’t Reach for Me

I feel like lately, with offices and bars and theaters reopening, people are out, but they’re out with giant wounds – the kind of wounds that show sinew and bone. Some people have emerged with an extra thirty pounds, a stack of unemployment checks, a mental health diagnosis or two… Some people have emerged alone. I have emerged awkward. The lack of chit-chat in the aisles of the grocery store, and the fact that I didn’t have to flash a perfunctory smile at a dozen or more people a day have left me wooden and stammering. Here’s a poem about how I fit into this new scene… Or don’t.

How Can I Help You

So far I’ve gotten by 
On good wine
And ignorance

I thought that divorce was
One of those things,
You know it’s out there
But you don’t bump into it
In the checkout aisle

You don’t worry about it hurting you or yours.
It’s for real housewives of various cities
And that aunt you avoid at Thanksgiving

You don’t rehearse what you’ll say
If divorce breezes in the door at a house party
Or if it tells you that your blouse looks nice. 

You don’t know how to put someone’s divorce
Into the box with the other forbidden dinner table topics
Like hemorrhoids and that football player
Who either does or does not disrespect our country. 

I cannot give out advice about divorce
Because I cannot even write a good poem about it


I have a rash on my face, my laptop is perhaps-hopelessly broken, and (more importantly) the world is still being ravaged by a pandemic. That said, there’s no real excuse for not writing. Anyways, here’s this:

Dark nights and fireflies
The sun's rays peeking through my blinds
When there's light
I think of you

Villainous Revelry

The other day, driving home from work, I found a new Spotify playlist called “POV: You’re the Villain in Love With the Hero”. Whoever “Rowan” is, they did a great job curating this bad boy. It’s sultry, playful, and just dark enough. It got me thinking, though: we are each the villain in someone else’s story, like it or not. What lengths do we go to to insist that we’re the hero, blameless and clean? And what does it take to admit that, sometimes, being the skeleton in someone else’s closet it reassuring in a way? Anyways, here’s “Twist”.


We'll meet, I'll say it was your eyes
That got me hooked
We'll talk
I'll stay up late and say
Like I always do
That I'm in love with your mind

We'll walk through the trees
And kiss by the creeks
I'll let you call me yours
Later, I'll call you another twist
In my spiral
You'll watch me discard you like the rest