riptide

it was in that little black
Honda Fit, after ten hours in the car
on the highway in the rain
and the music was on shuffle
I was scared of dentists and the dark
I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations
Oh, all my friends are turning green
You’re the magician’s assistant in their dreams
and I still get a lump in my throat when I
hear Vance Joy because those words were never wrong
you were my riptide, dragging me out to sea
as I fought, ceaselessly against the current
when I ought to have drowned in you.

color

Strolling along under the Brooklyn Bridge and it’s
Illuminated by the effervescent glow of Wall Street as the East River laps against the docks
The wind a whisper of winter’s return, but the chill a welcome guest
I can taste the crisp in the air, made bitter by the silence of your call
But all that matter is the lights, colored little orbs that outline the path to Brooklyn, my new home
And though it’s evening, it dawns on me…

I don’t even know your favorite color.

the thing is,

here is the thing…
you’re in my head, my heart, my soul
it hurts the marrow in my bones

and maybe it’s not you at all
rather the idea of it —
love at first laugh, I mean.

It got to be so bad, didn’t it?
All the anger and fights
fleeing, and the time I yelled at you
to get the fuck out of my car.

But I mostly just remember instead
the silent way the snow fell as we
kissed
on the nineteenth of December.

it’s infinite

And this is my thought—

that I will die alone surrounded by cats
after a lifetime of watching as everyone around me is
enveloped in love and achievement
while I whither on the vine
a spinster, a hag, has-been who never really was.

So I’ve relived that sweltering June afternoon in Arlington Cemetery
a hundred times, maybe more
as we hiked the hill and saw Washington’s monument
eyes filled with tears, drenched in rain or sweat or both
and that day was hard but
filled with possibility
as I drove away from you, soonafter that city
sad, but confident thinking I’d never look back
… not once.

But I was 23 then, 25 now and in hindsight I know
when I drove away it was
without direction, speeding along
not bothering with maps
and here I am
floating in an infinite abyss.

an ode to Dustin O’Halloran

Breathe in.

You were once
the Jacob to my Anna
speaking not at all
while saying everything
until we were speechless
sparkless
love became the highs and lows of Arrivals N2
we a mournful composition
of Dustin O’Halloran
like they,
standing in the shower
holding each other,
holding what once was
we too became tepid
Fragile N4,
until we broke, light and airy
to float away as dust in the sun

but Without You I Am A Lie.