The Loving Honesty of Heartbreak (in 5 poems)

I won’t act like I know what love is or write so certainly of it.  I know I have, and do often think of it, but so far every grand epiphany reminds me how vast of a concept love is.  I can speak of heartbreak and the beautiful breaking down the parts of ourselves to…

Gratitude, from the Deep Well of Sorrow

It isn’t Syriac, not even Arabic; both of which I love to hear being sung at the Maronite church in Buffalo, New York—with the incense filling the worship hall in thick haze, the parishioners dressed in  black, the back of their hair illuminated by the narrow and tall stained glass, and that sense of high…

The Sound of a Door Closing (Pt. I)

  Just yesterday, though it wasn’t the first time, a parent stopped me on my way out of the school to ask how I was doing.  Had it been the first time, I may have stopped and stayed there to give her a more sincere answer.  I probably wouldn’t have replied with only a curt…

enough

  Right now, there is that compelling drive to make those twenty-something hours to Tennessee, to run along the low-hum of dreary mountains into New England and on over to New York, To take my time coming back, through the quiet rocky forests To all those pieces of my heart I left behind in each…

Winnowing

The celebration of winnowing the sunflowers is much like a quiet and content act of smashing the previous year into bits and saving the precious pieces of text that made it through last year’s hell.  The obvious metaphor of seed saving for next few seasons is a cliché, but that was not what I was…

In the Walls

Late one night, or I suppose early one morning, a dream of the usual heartbreak, or of anger, I haven’t quite decided, stirred me awake.  Sluggishly, I tossed and writhed as if suspended in some thick and viscous sap.  Though I’ve never really seen a sloth, I could imagine myself one: moving gradually and in…

Coming into Vision

Look, I don’t want to belabor this story for too long; some of nature’s most quiet miracles occur in merely short moments and continue on without even a pause for admiration by the world’s mechanisms.  So why wait around?  Or rather, why wait more than needed?  I will try to be brief, to walk back…

The Unforgiving Man

    I was lying in bed after the night the spirits came to visit again.  I lay there long after the sun decided to came up.  I lay there unable, drained and fatigued, to get up.   Consciousness came to my side to talk with me, seeing that I needed talking. He’s a stoic…

The Corgi

To my dear sister fighting cancer.  This was a poem for her birthday. How often do people stick their face in yours to ask, what it must be like, as they coddle you and call it affection—do they know? your short comings have never stopped you from coming as far as you have. And, anyways,…