Monthly Archives: December 2009

dark lights

There are wolves in your eyes.
They aren’t vicious or hungry
but are strong,
and could tear me to pieces
with little effort.

Please don’t let them
turn you
into a violent thing.
You’re a quiet one these days
and that might mean they’re winning.

I ask why they’re there
but you don’t understand the question.
Your mind is overwhelmed
with wolf thoughts and wolf wants.


December the twenty-fifth

What a lovely Christmas day. Family, homemade goodies, thoughtful presents, and blue skies. It’s been wonderful. I’m completely content and I hope everyone had the best day.

long-term dreams

You always forget the lyrics to the song we play fourth on our set list, the song I wrote. Right before every performance you write them down the inside of your skinny little arm in black sharpie cursive. You grab the mic when you start to forget and read your curly words of my lyrics. But I don’t think you are really that forgetful. I think you know the lyrics of this song are about you. I worry you will ask me about them. I worry you won’t ask me about them.

Waiting for what probably won’t happen
traps me in this house.
I’m distracted from my errors
by broken promises and coincidences.
I’m watching the news too much
and eating too little.
You make it hard not to go back to previous plans for the future.

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heavy air

These were hot nights
with nonexistent
Laying in bed with
chlorine tangled hair
on hot pillows
was like drinking hot
soda in a can.
Ruined by heat.

Falling asleep
was an escape
but took
the only cool hours.

Dreams of rain
and cold winds
led to sour mornings
that felt like afternoons.


a day for us

She walks across the parking lot like the sun comes over the mountains. She’s my best friend so I know exactly how long it will take her to reach my car. l keep the doors locked until the second before she grabs the handle. I’m not afraid, it’s noon and that means there’s nothing to be afraid of. I think maybe she’ll want to go get some lunch and I think about how breakfast feels like forever ago. She sits down in the passenger seat and puts the several bags of things she always seems to be carrying down by her feet. She’s always wearing flats. She smiles at me in the way a single thirty-five-year-old looks at a baby. I don’t mind though. I blink slowly and put the car in drive, asking if she’s hungry. She says she could go for a sandwich and I pull out of the parking lot. She’s telling me all kinds of stories and I’m trying so hard to pay attention. It’s not that she’s boring or that I can’t focus, it’s just that I’ve missed her and I focus on her little mannerisms. I’ve known them for years know and it’s nice to see them again. She pauses to tell me that I look different and that she loves my dress then jumps back into her stories. Being around her is like wearing a soft sweater in the house. It’s comforting to drive her around town, like I have since junior year. We get to the restaurant we like and order food and then it’s my turn to tell stories. She likes my stories and it’s nice not to worry about boring her. When she’s finished with her sandwich and I still haven’t started mine it’s her turn again. We couldn’t possibly finish telling all our stories in one day but we tell a good deal so that we can feel caught up with each other’s life.

After lunch we go back to my house and act like lazy bears who have the gift of speech and live in a house. I get bored of all the sitting so we go swimming then make some cookies. She wants to show me a bunch of video projects she did for school so she does and I watch. We’re being selfish with our time and deny the invites of dinner with my family and dinner with some other friends. We get a pizza and eat it in my car and talk about boys like you have to when you’re eating pizza in a car. We laugh like children and gossip like old women in all the movies. When we’re tired she borrows some pajamas from me and we lay down to tell more stories in the dark. There are certain stories we’ve been saving for the dark. We stay up too late and know that we’ll wake up late and she’ll have to call her mom and tell her she’s going to come home later than she expected. But her mom doesn’t really care. Her mom knows that this is how it is when she hangs out with me. We’re best friends and we go to sleep like the setting sun.

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my grey coat

I’m sweating through this red flannel shirt but I can’t take my heavy grey coat off. When you offered to take my coat off for me I said no it’s okay, I’m actually a bit cold. If I took it off now you’d know I just didn’t want you taking off my coat. I don’t know why I care what you think at all. This is the most awkward and confused I’ve felt in a while. Why did I call you up and say we should get dinner? I don’t need you anymore. I guess I hoped things could feel like old times, when I was much more comfortable with your touch and your gaze. We’ll probably never be that close again. You’ll stop seeing me as the girl you liked so long ago and I’ll finally grow tired of your hazy mind and inability to keep a plan. We still give each other butterflies with our dinner conversation but it doesn’t create any lasting fix. I eventually take off my coat and you notice so I say something about how I’m finally warm. You smile in a way that reminds me that you never completely understood me. I can tell the end of dinner will be the end of our memories together so I order dessert and recall perfect memories with you, just to hold off the end for a while longer.


don’t look now, but they’re looking at you

The hawks are circling overhead as I walk across the field and I wonder if I’m dead. Or maybe I’m just dying and they’re just waiting. But that’s okay. The fear of dying without living is a widespread disease but the symptoms only appear occasionally. The music in my headphones is almost hurting my ears but I need to hear it this loud. I need to feel it affecting my core existence. When I’m in the center of the field I realize I left my blanket on the porch. I leave things on the porch a lot. I wonder if people drive by and try to piece my life together based on the things I leave out there. They’d say hmmm; a notebook and a pen, cream soda, nail polish, shoes, a flashlight, a sweater, and a blanket. She’s probably an insomniac who spends her nights outside in the field across the street. I’ve never actually done that though and I’d be too scared of night creatures to do so. I wish I was as daring as I imagine people think I am as they drive by my house. I’m actually just forgetful. I go back home and lose interest in the idea of sitting in the middle of the field along the way.


midnight coward

It’s the end of the night, and everyone knows it, but no one wants to get up and leave. We’re waiting for someone to scoot to the edge of the couch and say well, I should probably get going. We don’t want the night to really be over, because the morning makes us responsible, and we dislike our responsible selves. Our lives feel so heavy but we know it’s just because we’re tired and weak.

We’re nostalgic for what isn’t yet over and it’s uncomfortable. We’re waiting for night to kiss us on the doorstop of tomorrow but we know it’s too shy. Instead, it will be impersonal when we leave and the night’s contentment will be fleeting.


color coded nights

Knowing you takes time.
I wave at you through frosted windows
frosted with paint.
It’s not real snow. You knew that.
The bus forgot to stop at your stop.
It’s raining in your lungs.
I draw stick figures of you and me
but I erase them so you don’t see.
I’m tired of goodbyes so I bypass them.
You are full of goodbyes.


beach balls

You drive with bare feet.
You stick your hands out the window
into the warm sunny air
and let go of the worries.

These are our times.
We’re young and in love with life,
certain we’re ready for it all.
It hasn’t been so bad so far.

You put the sunroof down.
The wind plays with your hair
and any caution you had left.