the grass is a yard now,
is shaping itself by the boards
of the fence
you pick from the garden
each morning: vegetables, weeds;
you handle the stale clumps of dirt
while i watch
a sky flattens
leaves to old earth, with loving
hands raking the season
and we are awake in his bed
still counting the face of the clock
Filed under poem tree
and now it’s as
slight
as a change in the
wind, or a puddle
larger than it
was the day before
that i’m not
static, that you
have yet to see me
that way
or that you one
day will because you won’t
your rain is far
worse than
my glacial melt,
it slips beneath the
streets
Filed under poem tree
i used to never
know the sunset,
lost it as it
lost itself behind the
silhouettes of
east-bound tractor
trailers, eighteen
wheelers, setting on the
off-ramp, towing
with it remnants of
the day, already past,
already vacant,
growing dark,
emerging stars and now
it feels too soon.
Filed under poem tree
the room is dark
sleep circles under lighter eyes
on the other
side of the window
planes come in
like i do, coasting
along, vapour,
dust among the clouds and
south city air space,
blank and blinking
Filed under poem tree
it’s only august but i can feel fall coming through the windows. sweaters hang off the ends of my arms on walks home from work, and it’s already dark when we lock up the office. it never lasts long enough. even when there’s still all the time in the world it never feels like it’s enough. part of me knows that it’s boredom, anxiety and excitement for my fourth and final year of school, carleton sweaters with kristina and a graduation at the end. i’m anxious for time to speed up and pick away at me, i wait for it here on the other side of the bedroom window. the air doesn’t come through on its own. i want everything, and i want to do nothing to get it, and there are things i want that i’m beginning to think that i shouldn’t try for. i need to put in more hours while i can and still try and force myself into a strictly part-time routine. i need to focus on me and on school, and on finishing, and not devote every waking second to coffee pots and filing cabinets and cleaning up the client rooms. every year i tell myself the same thing and every year i wind up in the same place, never where i thought i would. i’ve quit classes for jobs in less than heartbeats, how when i was younger i’d quit jobs for boys and boys for their friends and sometimes it just boils down to the fact that my impulses have bred spontaneous dedication. i can’t slow down and i can’t quit anymore. i’ve committed myself more fully to everything this past year than i have ever done in my entire life. everything and, maybe more importantly, everyone. and fall is coming. i feel like it’s coming to take over, take charge. and i’m hoping it doesn’t damage those commitments. i hope it doesn’t take away what i’ve worked so damn hard to keep.
Filed under monologue
