The Poetry Snapshot: Parallel Lines

New York City, New York

I sat with the uncertainty of landing to a reality
I’d never seen with my own eyes.
I kept adjusting my economy seat.
I sit with the anxiety of finally returning,
after trying so hard to get back on my feet.

I was once eager to arrive
and dissolve my wistfulness with an embrace.
Now I’m nervous to see the empty space,
only filled with memories I still can’t face.

Back then I wanted the minutes to go by faster.
Folding time to reduce distance and see you again.

Today, I can wait.

I can be slow to get where I’m going
and make the destination farther away.

I am flying the same journey again,
but on parallel lines.

I can’t seem to balance this cheerful anticipation
with my fear of noticing the signs;
that times are different and things have grown
in ways I’m not familiar.
But perhaps returning to change is what I need
to finally get some closure.

The Poetry Snapshot: Moments of Warmth

Pan Macmillan Photography

I try to collect moments of warmth in the winter.
I hold a cup of hot chocolate,
and the fire begins to glow.
The sun breaks through a hazy dawn,
and glimmers into my window.

But I can only find fleeting moments of warmth,
with pastel ice shining in the sunrise,
and frost gripping onto everything in sight.
I can finally bundle up now,
and my layers can hug me tight.

Scarcity turns warmth into luxury.
I search for it all around me.
But no one’s beside me as I run down this trail;
hot water runs down my spine to no avail.
Alone and silently,
I crave moments of warmth in the winter.

The Poetry Snapshot: Waking up to Yesterday

Rushing to begin my digital day.
Music on repeat continues to play.
Rushing to begin my digital day.
Music on repeat continues to play.

Chicago Union Station, Illinois

Déjà vu turns into routine,
my life becomes one movie scene.
Every day is the same,
there are no surprises.
Eventually, this monotony normalizes.

I go to sleep and wake up to yesterday.
I tell myself to find joy in the little things,
but I’m a city bird with restless wings.
And as the holidays approach,
I need one little miracle.
One escape. One adventure.
One more thing to hold onto forever,
as we continue to live life like clockwork.

The Poetry Snapshot: Lost and Found

I know of an old house,
with crumbling patterned wallpaper and rusting photo frames.
Somehow, it holds its ground while continuing to burn in flames.
It consumes those within;
closing its doors behind all those who once curiously came in.

Abandoned for a while now
and forgotten by outsiders,
this house
is not
It traps its stories inside.

Every mirror reflecting its past glory and ticking clocks recounting its pride.
All those moments gone and memories lost are found within this house.

So I enter hoping to remember;
hoping to reminisce.

And at first,
the sight of old corduroy couches brought me back.
I know these steps, I know these floors.
I know this dining room window light.
And i’ve missed it.

If I could bottle up the way the sun hit the walls every morning
and drink it for breakfast
I would.
I felt comfort in the arms of the past,
trying to make each and every memory last.

But there were holes.
Unfamiliar corners
and new scents
that kept appearing.
Shadows tainting my precious memories
like invasive vines wrapping tightly around a tree.
I was suffocating.

The more time I spent in this house searching
the more it took from me,
until I had to face what I tried to ignore.
Sometimes, what’s lost shouldn’t be looked for.

Cheboygan, Michigan

The Poetry Snapshot: Navigating to Nowhere

Welcome to the nights of the beautifully broken.

Driving up north in Michigan

We start to head down this unraveling midnight road,
and music slips through every word unspoken.
You begin to navigate us to nowhere.

When I cannot fall asleep at night,
I fall apart instead.
I look out the window and try to convince myself,
I know what’s coming ahead.
These silent roads are all intertwined,
and you continue to navigate us to nowhere.

Like a deer in headlights, the conversation changes.
This dynamic is starting to reach new stages,
and I don’t want to be on different pages.
But then you accurately navigate us to nowhere.

We eventually circle back without a hurry.
But this drive has gone by in the blink of an eye,
and now looking back, it’s starting to seem blurry.
So again, can you navigate us to nowhere?

The Poetry Snapshot: A Modern Love Story

You can feel the midnight rush on her streets
like a constant pulse running through this city.
Everyone that passes by carries a different story.
Even her forgotten corners have their own sense of glory.
But they’re all connected by their love for her.
The kind of love you have when your role model watches you perform;
a tender love of appreciation and intimidation.

She never waits for anyone;
you either learn to run at her pace or you get left behind.
Her sidewalks force children to quickly grow up,
yet she can give you a reason to feel forever young.

She stands as the strongest pedestal for light;
in morning sunrises and evening horizons.
The minute you arrive you never want to leave,
because despite all the lonely dances,
she’ll always have you entranced.

New York City, New York