Goodnight
the moon watches over me
as it retires behind the bold sun
it prays for peace
in a day to be lived
well and with vitality
it stands in solidarity
an enduring reminder
of birthdays long gone
and when black ink takes hold
amidst the chill and constellations
it appears
bright as day
to say goodnight
and welcome home
Magic
you told me you were a witch
sorting tarot cards with stubby fingers
prancing between old oak trees
casting spells that you dreamed up
tossing herbs in a cauldron pot
chanting gibberish at the stars
you gasped and cried out
praises for life
distanced from the past
future manifestations
of hope that would last
your heart on your tongue
bleeding words with vigor
but I knew they weren’t listening
just watching you like a million eyes
but I let you believe
because you were magic to me
Spindly Legs
if the mind has legs
they are spindly
like a spider’s or vines on a plant
which turn, wrap, squeeze, intertwine
without secure direction or honest intention
you look at me
with my spindly legs
but your smile is mischief
like the Cheshire cat’s up above
clinging to a branch in the dark
I find you hard to trust
and I’m sure you’d say the same
Movie Magic Omission
munching on an apple in the kitchen because its 2:00 am
snoring because of the five-block traffic jam
licking the yellow strip on an envelope because it’s somehow still 2003
scrolling through dog videos because the test isn’t tomorrow
fishing for the last lucky charm in the bowl because you’re stubborn, damn it
gasping for breath because a Target run can’t wait
nothing is like the movies.
Picnic
Why does it always rain on picnic days?
I stumble, picking up the pace
Still, I’m just shy of the group
that somehow knows one another
deeper than I can dive,
which isn’t saying much
They exchange stories like money
smiles like candy
laughs like party favors
before I stop
as they spread, starfish
on beach blankets
and swallow sandwiches
not knowing
that I know
the rain is on its way
because it always rains on picnic days
The Heat in August
Cotton swabs strung along a sea of blue
threading through gusts of wind
which carry me to a place
white-walled and cement-floored
walked on with worn shoes
thinned with time and eager energy
I reach a door I’ve never opened
with a beating in my chest
that screams excitement, but the nerves linger
catching on breaths
wiping my beaded face–
a gift from the August heat
a new beginning
