Unfinished thoughts

If only I

If only you

You won’t, I know

The sun is the wind is

Higher than I thought likely

In just a little while

You know

No, you don’t

It’s all

Just wait

too much

How do I

Would you…

I want–need and want

Is my hair too thin

Are my arms not long enough

Is my heart racing too fast

every time

What to say

Can’t say it.

I’m sorry.

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National Grilled Cheese Poetry Month

It’s National Poetry Month! Write a poem! It’s also National Grilled Cheese Month. (and I guess today is grilled cheese DAY. But really, whichever day you eat it is grilled cheese day.) I think the conclusion we are supposed to make here is that grilled cheese is poetry. (Because it would be weird to say that poems are grilled cheese.) I feel like it’s my responsibility to eat a grilled cheese sandwich at some point this month.

I figured I would try to write at least one poem this month, even though I’m not really that into writing poems. I guess some people might define the flash pieces as prose poetry, but that’s not how I think of them. And that’s what matters.

So right now I’m going to write a poem about grilled cheese. You’re welcome.

 

Anything

can go on your grilled cheese.

There are rules, of course

Bread. Cheese. Grill.

But after that your sandwich will go wherever

your imagination takes it.

I like apple and brie, personally

Can it still count as grilled cheese

if it’s made on a panini press?

I think so.

It’s my sandwich, not yours

so I’ll call it whatever I want.

 

The last time I tried

to make grilled cheese,

I burned it.

And the bread didn’t line up right.

It wasn’t really very good.

And I wondered,

what’s so great about grilled cheese anyway?

But sometimes that’s just how it happens.

It can be something of a “task”

to get it right.

Isn’t it worth it, though?

The melty in your mouth, buttery

(maybe bacony)

flavor.

The crunch and the warmth.

Eat slowly. I always find

that my food is gone and

I’ve barely had a chance

to taste it.

 

Bittersweet

I was looking through very old journal and found some poems I wrote many years ago. This one is from the summer of 2004, with new edits from today. 

 

 

Let me be weightless

falling away from myself,

and step across

the weeping arms of willows.

The ocean is bittersweet;

I’ll swim the depths in search of me.

 

The fullest moon,

smooth as a field of clay,

disguises the sharpest thorns

My skin is cracking

full of red rust.

I am

a drawing of sand

dispersing into the wind.

 

The petals of forget-me-nots die

to be forgotten.