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.

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.



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)


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.


Another Life #29

“You and I are very alike. We make the same mistakes over and over again. I guess in different ways, ┬ábut there they are. We want much more than what we think we can have. We want to connect, but we don’t know how – we have theories about it, although we don’t know for sure, and we’re frustrated that the entire world doesn’t agree with us in that way, and many others. You and I, we hold things inside because we just don’t know where else to put them. We hoard moments of pleasure or contentment – little shreds of what looks like happiness – to use as stepping stones across vast stretches of hard times. We stare out of windows and try to take opportunities that aren’t really there. We are treading air, about to fall, and we can hardly breathe. Maybe you, maybe I, should have given up a long time ago.”



“But we’re still here, so that says something…”

Another Life #28

I wish I could just pluck explanations out of the air. I’d look in one directions and it would become clear, no more questions, no more doubts. Instantaneous instances of certainty. Sometimes I feel like I need it. And it would be the real explanation – the “truth” – although sometimes I think that truth isn’t real, but that’s a story for another time – and not just a possibility born out of fear or something else.

But you’d think, if it did happen that way, I’d have to be crazy to believe it.

Another Life #19

Inspired by this ridiculous wind.


I possess the most powerful lungs in the universe. My breath is a hurricane. I inhale and tree branches groan toward me from miles away. I let the breath go, and buildings are flattened under the current I create. I can hold my breath for seven years at once.

This is year six.

Another Life #17

I am standing in a vast desert, the sand burning my feet as snow falls around me. For some reason I want to sing, but my voice has been taken by an angel I met the other day, who put it into a jar, where it buzzed around like a tiny melodic fly. My coat is made of red plastic. An hour ago it was melting in the sun. Now I pull it tight against my shoulders and it barely cuts the chill at all. My eyes turn everything violet, and I start to see a vision of the ocean. I know it must be a mirage, because it never touches the ground, but washes upon a midair shore instead.

Another Life #16

or Soul-mate

The brown tile platform, already littered with commuters, started to become uncomfortably stuffed with people as I waited for my train home. As yet another train-rider squeezed her way in front of me, I sighed in frustration and turned my head to mutter scathing remarks to myself. And then I saw you.

You were looking straight at me. Your face was blurred, but your dark eyes locked onto mine and would not release me. I dimly registered your spiked black hair, checkered scarf, and silver earring in some very large gauge. None of that affected me – nor did you take notice of my unwashed hair, shining with oil, or my ill-fitting jeans. We walked toward each other, weaving through the crowd as a train pulled into the station. Our hands met as the doors opened, and the opposing streams of people poured in and out of the train. We boarded together, standing in what little space the other passengers would allow us, with our fingers linked.

My stop, just two over, came before yours. I got off the train, turning to look at you again. Our eyes held each other until the train pulled away. I wished that I had asked your name, at least.

It bothers me less that I may never see you again than the thought that if I do, we might just walk right by each other, not noticing.

Another Life #14

Take me back…

…to when I was in love with you. You were so perfect, and I had this hopeful glimmer. Before the unfulfillment and disappointment, before the months I spent crying over you and the plans for showing you how over it all I was the next time we met. To when the thought of your arms around me gave me a lovely chill. To when I was sure that it would be just like I imagined, only better.

…to a moment walking alongside the River Lee in Cork, feeling a sudden clarity and contentment. There was nothing picturesque or perfect about it, but I’ve been too long trying to remember that feeling.

…to flying in dreams, soaring through streaks of colors and light, a rush of excitement and unreality, and then awakening and recalling how real that feeling was.

Another Life #12

Daydreaming. Sun and water. Immersed. Soft grass, clover, flowers. Toes. Entwined. Rain and hope. Dancing, on the subway. Song. Bursting. Tears and cheeks. Pear juice, dripping. Jewel garden. Red dress. Nighttime chanting. Bright forms, flames, dancing.

Waves of wind and sadness. Constant creation. Follow. Visions. Soul, taking flight through stars. Nothing. A face. An eye. A hand. Reaching. Touch. Energy, lightning. Scent of roses. Trace of satin. Lock of hair, lying on the ground. A smile, from nowhere.

A voice. Eyes closed. Engulfing. And then, a flash –