Everyday Stories

January 29, 2024

Ordinary

There is a pattern of days. The weeks wear uniforms.Memory is a compass. I fill myself with things that empty.

A red tailed hawk flies overhead and eludes me. The deer graze in the frozen field. The snow drifts like an army of ghosts.

If you approach an animal too quickly, you’ll lose its trust. You must unfold one finger at a time.

My nine year old daughter is taking photos in her room. She asks when she can start wearing make up.

Lately I’ve been tucking my memories inside the lines that run down my neck- designing a purpose for their existence.

Flawlessness is a season.

Be careful of the things you convince yourself you need in order to survive.

You must worship the ordinary before the extraordinary calls to you.

This the work of the living.

January 29, 2024

Apricity

Watching my daughter pick up dead leaves in a parking lot- I understand now that she has inherited my fascination with this world.

She leans down without warning, noticing the feather from a dove.  The path is filled with engines. Still, she observes- slipping the leaf from an oak tree inside her pocket.

All of it is beautiful- the petal of a tulip, a whirlybird from a maple tree, a grapevine and a pebble that has been traveling inside her shoe.

For every exhaustion that is paired with loving her, may I remember this. She holds the world in a jar upon the windowsill- collecting tiny empires that are otherwise dismissed.

Preservation is the work of the innocent.

March 4, 2024

Asphalt

There is a dead bird lying on the side of the road- perfectly preserved- as if it dropped out of the sky.

A hank of rainbow yarn is rolling down the street- unraveling without shame.

I am envious.

A red rubber ball rolls down the alley. The sky turns to charcoal and swallows everything bright.

The afternoon unfolds like a film, reel by reel- every hour more cinematic than the last.

I am lost in my own geography. Everything I want sits on the edge of my sleeve, like chalk.

The night we drove home from the hospital, there was a family of deer, grazing in the field. We pulled over just to look at them.

We needed to witness something beautiful. We needed to believe in something harmless.

After that, you dyed your hair and we held on to one another in the bathroom. You said “You’re trying so hard.”

Still, I cast my net.

I am asphalt.

I am the catcher in the rye.

March 27, 2024

Drag Queen Story Hour

Drag Queen Story Hour

Was canceled

Due to a bomb threat

Because a boa

Is a celebration

And some of us can’t stand

When it’s somebody else’s party

And after all, stilettos

Are more dynamite

Than explosives

Moral fiber is flammable

But God damn it’s gorgeous

Queens don’t rise

By putting out fires

They ignite them

April 21, 2024

Totality

These are days with earthquakes and solar eclipses. The cat stares at the carpet, where three days ago she found a spider.

Memories make reckless historians.

I’ve been waiting in waiting rooms-home improvement shows running on a loop. I am tired of blood draws and renovations.

I am bankrupt from repairs. Walking beneath this half light, thinking maybe I am cursed.

But there you are, in the backyard, making dandelion chains and throwing pebbles in a puddle, left over from the rain.

I hope you never inherit my restless afternoons and only my favorite Taylor Swift songs and sweaters.

The best of me looks better on you.

May 2, 2024

Rabbit Eulogy

We’re driving in silence

Your arms resting on the ledge of the night

A corn combine harvester

Illuminates the field with amber light

I think back to the moment

The rabbit ran under the car

We thought that we had killed it

And with it, all we are-

Swearing never to forgive ourselves

For our misguided crime

Forever grieving something innocent

Because we are helpless to time

I still listen for the sound of your

Breath down the hall-

Faithlessly waiting for the oxygen mask

From the ceiling to fall

I saved all of your dandelions

That never became wishes

The smallest cuts are gaping wounds

When your heart is suspicious

I once believed there were mice

Living in tiny houses in the forest

Instead of armies in the streets

Carrying weapons to harm us

And people who hold you accountable

For what you give them for free

In the end I have no one to blame

For my debt but me

Writing eulogies for rabbits

Like wild horses

Who still run free

While I drag around the ghost

Of who I thought I would be

May 7, 2024

Relic

Far beneath the raging sea

I live in dark catastrophe

Deaf to siren song and scream

Drown in all my shipwrecked dreams

Of swans that fall through frigid ice

Love is a thief- I paid the price

Gone is my eternal youth

Replaced by unforgiving truth

I am bankrupt from the cost

Everything I gained, I lost

Trapped within that frozen mire

Forged of ice and desperate fire

Abandoning my false empire

Baptized by these arctic tears

Remaining silent all these years

Encapsulated with emotion

Deeper than the fiercest ocean

Haunted by these casualties

Immortalized in winter freeze

All is fair in love and war

There are ghosts on every shore

And all the gods are keeping score

As we drown forever more

May 26, 2024

Good Gatsby

(for Paris)

The party became a funeral. We wrote champagne eulogies. We released our flaming arrows and rearranged the constellations.

We once built deserts where the cowboys were poets and chased tornadoes while the Wizard catfished Oz.

Time was an eternal cast party.

You were our Neverland.

When the show closed, the Lost Boys kickstarted a traveling production and left you to face your ghosts.

You tweeted from the haunted house “Create wondrous work while holding on tight to the roller coaster.”

You quoted James Baldwin and stood beside Fitzgerald’s grave. Maybe Gatsby wasn’t so great after all.

Maybe he was just good.

Every lesson you taught was a compass tattoo.

We bury you in sand with your specters and your storms and all of the outlaws of your high crime nights and the dust of your perfect days.

Farewell sweet prince. You were the King of our youth.

June 12, 2024

Amateur Astronomer

We’re driving in the dark-

Listening to “Cool About It”

From the passenger seat,

You’re connecting your scars

Like constellations

I never learned the names of

Somebody tied

Pieces of fabric

In the shape of a heart

Into the playground fence

Half of it is missing now

I’m trying not to

Read into that

We pass the store

Where I bought you

A pair of shoes

With mermaids

I do not think

That they will sing for me

Do you still believe

There’s a handful

Of watermelon seeds

Inside you

Or have your abandoned

Such childish things

The doctors pulled

Your baby teeth

And splinters

I held your hand

As if it was a replica

Of the Titanic

As if I could save you

From sinking

Even then

As if I wasn’t already

Planning

To sew back

The other half of the heart

Just for you

June 18, 2024

Monster

I come from

A long line

Of Monstrosities

My father

Was a nightmare

My mother

Was a monster

He broke things

She told me

To hold them together

He was stoic

She told me

To feel everything

He was a statue

In the Living Room

We lived around him

He hid behind

Bottles

And doors

And bad jokes

She told me

To recycle them

To open them

And to laugh

He disappeared

She hired

A magician

He was unforgiving

She forgave him

She put

Tiny umbrellas

In his drinks

She decorated

His addiction

He hated this world

She loved it

I hated

And loved it too

I stood in front

Of the mirror

And said Bloody Mary

Three times

But all I saw

Was myself

Because she

Was afraid of me

I inherited

The carnival

My mother said

Hold on tight

But I let go

Of the balloon

She handed me another

My mother believes

That all of us

Are worthy of saving

She made me

Believe it too

And that is why

She

Is a monster

August 7, 2024

Kid Fears

It’s a cinematic summer

The parking lots

Connect like stars

We once measured out

Our days

In pretzels and scars

There’s a car parked

In the front yard-

Half way demolished

Everyone wants

To be starving

And flawless

This place

Is a Ghost Town

Of God forsaken things

We live in the ruins

Where we used

To be kings

The sun is a sparkler

We never learned

To let go-

Running through fields

Of Queen Anne’s Lace-

As if it was snow

Burrowed in my jaw

I’ve still got

One baby tooth

If only I could preserve

My innocence like I did

The monsters of my youth

September 3, 2024

A Murder of Crows

A Turkey Vulture

Steps out onto the road

But there is no carrion

Scavengers are

Story tellers-

If they could scream,

They’d tell you this…

Death is not

A beautiful feast

Two children

Run down the street,

Wearing costumes-

Dragons

Breathing fire

Into August

One child

Is an annex-

Anything more

Is an empire

A murder

Of crows-

A parliament

Of owls-

A murmuration

Of starlings-

That’s what

Little girls

Are made of

A Pandorous Sphinx moth

Dies in the grass-

Trapped

In the Deadlights

All these years-

Throwing paper airplanes,

Dodging raptors

And chasing light-

We were never young,

We have always

Been molting

September 15, 2024

Twin Scar

Her house

Sat at the end

Of the lane

The driveway

Was paved

With pebbles

And innocence

She moved

Inside the barn

Like a marionette

Every time

You think of love now

You think of horses

She made you believe

You were safe

You sliced open

The palms

Of your hands,

Like pears,

To seal

The promise

Every time

You bleed now

You think of her

You tossed stones

Into the river,

Hovering

On the edge

Of the afternoon-

Sinking

Up to your

Rib cage

Every time

You breathe now

You think of her

You were Waterlily

She was Marigold

The summer

Was a whale fall

She was

Marine snow

It was real

She’s got

The twin scar

To prove it

October 25, 2024

Ginkgo

Today I found

A rock

Shaped like a heart

And a ginkgo leaf-

That you were impressed

I could identify

I laid both

On the table-

As if we were going

To begin

Living our lives

Around our collections

Our days revolve

Around repair

And tiny disasters-

The emptying afternoons

Leave trails

Of paper wrappers

And glasses

That were once

Filled with water

The road is

Chalked with carcasses-

Deer, raccoon, squirrel,

Hawk, woodpecker

Death is always familiar-

And never a foreign country

The woman

At the pharmacy

Is wearing a knitted cap

To keep her head warm

And getting

High risk vaccines

All we have

Is this life-

Every moment

Is a centerpiece

November 8, 2024

Orange Juice

Today

I bought a bottle

Of vitamins

Because my body

Rejects all

Of my efforts

Like an organ transplant

I bought deodorant

Because my daughters

Refuse to share anything-

Especially their blood, sweat

And tears

I bought scotch tape

And was surprised

At the cost

Of adhesive-

The price

You pay

To hold things

Together

A dog walked

Down the aisle,

Growling at all

Of the customers-

His owner said

“He doesn’t like people”

But he came

Right up to me

And sniffed my hand

The couple

At the register

Took turns

Removing items

From plastic bags

Because they couldn’t

Afford them

“Forget the orange juice”

They said

I didn’t see

The Aurora Borealis-

When it was visible

From my back yard

I was designed

For stories,

Not for stars

November 8, 2024

Election Day

Today I wrote

My children’s names

Inside their shirts

In case

They get shot

At school

So their bodies

Could be identified

Their tiny bodies,

Who still have

So much

Living to do

I used permanent marker

My grandmother

Used to sew

My Halloween costumes

When I was small-

Maybe thread

Would have

Been nicer

Than marker

Most days

I use my voice

Like a fire extinguisher-

Only when necessary

Because rage

Is a dress with pockets-

Every girl has one

The grandchildren

I may one day have

Have more rights

In utero

Than their own mothers

How many times

Have I told them

That they could be

Anything they wanted?

That they could be president

November 14, 2024

Neversink

The Mountain

Is on fire

It hasn’t rained

In weeks

The locals

Call it Neversink-

Most of us

Will eventually

Drown

In our own

Geography

My son

Is 22 now-

By his age

My father was

Already drinking

All of those

Nights

Alone on

Alaska ice-

Did you know

Then

The ghosts

You met there

Would one day

Kill you

In the midst

Of the memes

And the reels

At day’s end,

I come across

A series of

Photographs-

Someone has

Compiled years

Of her parents

Waving goodbye

I turn the screen

So my daughter

Can see it

I think to myself

This

Is how

I want you

To remember me-

Broken by softness

If only

I could go back-

Take my

Father’s hand

And pull him across

The glacier

Before it split

But some of us

Have always

Been sinking

December 5,2024

Orbit

We’re driving

On the

Roundabout

We’re walking

In circles-

Always ending

Where we began

Up ahead

Two dead deer

Are lying

In the grass-

One on

Each side

Of the road-

They lie quietly-

Sleeping

In perfect

Murdered symmetry

A wasp

Has been dying

On the front porch

For days-

Furled

Like a

Nautilus Shell

In the grip

Of a frozen sea

We live

Our lives

Like this-

Paralyzed

At the thought

Of unfolding

Somewhere,

An astronaut

Is returning

From space

And learning

How to walk again

And hold a pencil

We are

Touring exhibitions

Of all our dreams

And mistakes

We are memories

In orbit

We are puppets

Of all

We heal

And destroy