Friend

I was going to send flowers,
but then I decided to give you something else:
this empty vessel to fill.
This used, passed over, chipped,
and re-gifted space --clear as dawn.
This vase
to house the bright moments that will come.
This home for small beauties and treasures.

The sorrow, we know, is that you don't always
foresee what tomorrow will bring.
You open the door
to brief joy
or drowning grief.
You feel strange,
even to yourself.
And what was certain yesterday
is no longer certain
today.

Steady,
this vase,
to house small,
beautiful moments in time
for as long as we can keep them.

Steady,
even empty,
to remind you of the big, bright tomorrow
it cannot possibly contain.
Those bright days are the kind we wish for
in the seconds before dreaming
and the moment we awake.

This vase,
open clarity
that we miss in our own mind and soul, at times.
But, open clarity, we will see again.
This vase, tomorrow, maybe
filled with wildflowers that grow where they aren't supposed to:
joy that peaks around unseen corners when it was long lost.

We deserve more than flighty joy and dying flowers,
but we can fill this vase with anything we want.
And wait for the sun to rise,
light shining through the glass to fill the empty space.

LA, CA (9/22/14)

Distance

Two Arkansas summers ago,
I thought I knew a lot of things.
Where I wanted to be
and who I wanted to leave
Most
likely it was a deep burn that I felt.
I sought freedom from this life,
straight and narrow.

One Arkansas winter ago,
and a birthday in between,
I packed every small and big thing
and headed west
into some multi-colored sunset.
Last
feeling when I boarded that plane
was not knowing
--and I liked it.

Weeks of sleepless nights ago,
I gave up safe and easy.
I gave up the things I knew:
how my heart didn't fit his,
and how my words clanged against church walls,
and how my story struggled to be born.

Eighteen months ago
lives no closer to a happy ending
than today.
And I was no farther.

Truth, a moving target.
Happiness, a ghost.
They danced two summers ago.
And now.

LA, CA (9/10/14)

Weak

The pain you caused is still there,
deep.
It stings when certain words are applied.
It curses you when it's pressed.

You, who meant nothing in all honesty,
managed to hit that soft spot,
under my armor.
And it hurt.
It still hurts.

Time has little chance with this,
because time, before you,
is what made it so

weak.

LA, CA (6/21/14)

On Wild and Windy Nights

On wild and windy nights,
this city will give you a peek.
You can see underneath.
Electric lights with no direction.
Rush, rush.

Cool breeze and
too-direct sun.
Sand in the floorboard
is the only beach you'll see today.

And then...
tall black hats line the sidewalk
and laughter fills the night.
The best music and movies
always visit.

So, you remember...
the sweet watermelon drink
and bright pink trees
that trumpet the spring.
That long spring-summer that never thaws.

Never home
but maybe
just right
now.

LA, CA (4/29/14)

Landmarks

The mountains on all sides
and the sky forever.
They make me feel
small,
less clumsy.

The mass of people
and metal
help me disappear,
but I'm not invisible.
I stand out.

That big, bold sign
that beckons others
guides me to where I sleep,
but it's not home.

Those domed lights on the hill
are a comfort,
a place away from
this.

When I need reminders
of the good,
I look up.

LA, CA (12/2013)

Observe

The gray sky is alight with new ideas.
My mind, the same.
LA winter is gray, I'm told.
I understand.
I get winter.

There are moments where the truths in this adventure wash over me,
gray sky to light.

They are fewer than I'd like, but I try.

I wouldn't change the moment
or the sky.

(LA, CA: 11/16/13)