alexi.

after the slaughter there was no
motion. we stayed
clothed in bed for a very long
time. you greased
my eyelids for comfort
and blindness, you told me

you dreamed for three nights:
fictional lavender in washington
state; i’d dreamt of the heir
to a throne

i gifted you glasses for wine,
still held by their cellophane skin

while my son was unborn i called
him ‘alexi’, a namesake

the fields don’t exist in that
state, i had said, too smothered by
forest, by rock

napowrimo conclusion.

so it’s may now!

which means it’s no longer april, which means i’m no longer writing a poem per day, which has been bittersweet.

april did encourage me to write more, and to share more, and i hope that continues in the months to follow. in the meantime i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who followed, liked, and commented along throughout my napowrimo adventure.

sometimes i was a bit drunk when writing, sometimes i was serious, and once i forgot to post before midnight, but i legit managed to write a new one every day. and it felt pretty great to share them without worrying about editing & obsessing first.

i had fun doing it & the encouragement was super helpful, so really, thank you! i hope you keep following & enjoy future posts.

cross street.

napowrimo #29

like shadows of photographs
still developing, or an
ultrasound, we
wait, we

pick apart
scrapped pieces of
ourselves, much
like our dinner, and

designate: a
part is mine, a part is yours

[the second in a row, and i guess a part of some kind of series i started without knowing it, about home, and places that meant something but are now just something i remember.]

edwards park.

napowrimo #28

I.

when we crossed
the river i made a mistake

one hand in yours, plucking grass
from a lawn with the other,

stomping the slugs and
snails downwards, into the earth

II.

you curl
fingers together
with yours in a lone
mitten;
you lost the
other, or gave it
away

III.

beneath our umbrella we damage
the soil, we dig with purpose

in the end
we ask for the rain, for
the way it becomes when
we’ve torn up the streets