why I’m still into monogamy

Like a sunflower at dawn

the light circles the window,

slowly, from pane to pane:

white fabric fading along

the edges, the slight smudge

of gray near the nightstand,

a black and white journal

shedding its ink. The carpet

is still blue, like an autumn sky

with a few scattered clouds,

makeup stains sprawling.

The dresser is dark wood and tall

like a castle, the mirror elegantly

gazing at the front wall, a pair

of slippers hiding underneath.  I

open two drawers and find them

empty; the other four, stacked full:

old T-shirt memories, championships

and golf tournaments, razorbacks

and soft wool sweaters mixed together.

The bed seems bigger now, a new down

cover reminding me of a new castle,

a different prince– one I could never get

to know in one lifetime, let alone one day.

But I can still sit here, quietly, observing

the nooks and crannies, allowing time to

haunt its human victim into realizing that

we can never fully know a thing, a person,

a place– so I might as well spend my life

with one man, one window, one room,

learning to love all the fuzzy details I am

lucky enough to capture.

 

happy love day!  I’ve been wanting to write a poem like this for a while, now…I’m sure I will be returning to it in the future, to tweak it here and there; but the underlying message will most likely stay the same.  I’m super open to all types of relationships that people explore and feel drawn to, and this is what feels right to me.  xo

February 13, 2016

through my window

the intersection

of tree

and sky,

the lines 

they paint

across pale blue horizons 

while two black specks of bird chase each other.

***

Truth,

expanding over snow-dipped houses–

it will never be found beneath my pen.

***

the earth knows things my mind cannot see.

***

but I can still sit back,

exhale,

and soak in the view:

a single, conscious moment in the universe.

tumblr_nxewliCb0n1u489n5o1_1280.jpgFebruary 6, 2016

Teacher

In times

of good

and bad

I let nature

be my teacher.

 

One leaf

sways

as gently

as a summer song,

not so I can sing along–

but to remind me

that I belong

in these last pieces

of greenery,

they are not simple

scenery

they are our home

a good climb upon a hill

does more for me

than an hour in mass,

sings me back the source

layered in my own skin

not to spite religion

but society warms itself

on separation,

these leaves

that sway

sing songs of connection

of life

that will stand

long after we fall–

no human controls all.

 

Instead I open up

my window,

lean into the wind

and listen.

 

January 10, 2016

City Living

We live here,

apartment three

floor four–

it’s confusing,

I know.

Burgundy molding

pinches the outside of my window,

a gentle beauty

I did not expect to find on my side

of New York City.

The big picture is always on my mind;

and yet I so rarely see it.

I can stand across the street

and trace the molding with my finger,

flowers and leaves winding down,

perfectly framing a place

that makes home feel a little bit closer.

My head hurts, sometimes.

Despite the pretty picture

I can still hear the questions

layered in the window pane,

stories corned in by concrete slabs

and the society

we close our doors and try to hide from

We cannot lock ourselves away forever.

My eyes are beginning to open,

learning what it means to not just think

holistically

but to be whole;

not just to trace the molding

but to hold the painting,

turn the knob,

open the door.

September 18, 2015