A Poppy in October

Is it death we fear, or the leaving before knowing love? Are there that many fields of students that go missing high up in the mountains, while following along some trail, waging war on themselves just to learn an answer: that loves’ greatest peak is where we allow ourselves to let go of the ones…

At Home in Snow

      We met north of the city. Outside, the church doors were locked and no wonder, it was a Monday. We both missed morning mass. It was the holidays, December, and this time of year seems to both rekindle and revoke my nostalgia for home. Dad rolled down his window to greet me…

Beautiful.

    I don’t know too many people who have willingly read the story of their last relationship.  Fortunately, I used to date a writer.  Her work is phenomenal and I expected nothing less when reading the draft of her first book.  I guess I gave it away already but, yup, the book is written…

Why the Cottonwood Gave Up Everything for Spring.

  I would like to believe myself a descendant to some wise old bird aware of the terrors of being a poet in his time—or maybe just always consumed by some obsessive work. In his time he would pass up the expediency of machines or the draw of making a family to seek joys in…

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…

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…

laughter

Maybe all our dreams are about those fears, even the ones we smile over that laughter might first sprout from a nervous notion lest something else could flash out: that might it be possible for me to hold something tender that I will come to want so dearly?

You are Everyone’s Grandson: Ancestors Pt. 2

Ancestors Pt. 2 You are everyone’s grandson. Cemeteries are a farmer’s final field. Nothing grows here except for time. Time and its tiny flowers that bloom every season. Yet people only come to harvest when their calendars indicate a year has passed. Family members, draped in their blacks and their veils, coast along these vast…

distance never seperates

“When chance awakens love, everything takes its place in a man in obedience to that love, and love brings him a sense of distance…” -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry “Flight to Arras”   This was the first sentence upon opening my book today. Might I add that it adds a greater understanding to what I feel, and…