POETRY

all poems are from the upcoming collection We’re Sorry, but Something Went Wrong
coming soon

Better Help Snowy Owl

_{(originally published in Birdy Magazine, December 2020)}

My breath leaves my mouth
Like intermittent ghosts gliding into the void
I can feel every bead of sweat
Soaking the cotton of my winter hat
And my scarf
My cheeks and nose sting from the cold
As I look up at him
And await an answer

His round, golden eyes vanish for a second,
Blinked under black leather eyelids
Then return, shining fierce in the moonlight
He turns his head, smooth, as if it’s on ball bearings
And stares deep into the woods behind me
My eyes drift to his certificate
Carved deftly into the white bark of the tree trunk next to him:
Owl, LPC, CAC, LAMFT, PhD

His head swivels back and he eyes me
“I find that, more often than not,
When someone is bothering us
It is actually more about us than the other person.”
I fill the air between us with a long, spectral sigh
I shift my feet in the snow and it squeaks softly
“Great,” I say, “You’re one of those.”
He blinks again, then asks, “Who?”

Bigger Than Statues

_{(originally published in The American Journal of Poetry, December 2021)}

The Reflecting Pool
is anything but: brown ducks circle
lazy figure eights,
water the color of battery acid.
We’re about done looking –
Joanna, her parents, and I make our way
down Independence Avenue
to see Jefferson under the dome.
Disappointment pangs sharply with each step
like a rock in my shoe.
I don’t say this out loud – her dad is paying for the trip.

It’s early April; we’ve seen hints
that the cherry blossoms are in bloom.
But we’ve not yet seen the grove
growing along the Tidal Basin
until now.
As we pass through the festival,
ring toss and water gun games for kids,
cherry jams sold from booths
I’m transfixed on the dark brown branches;
millions of delicate bunches of coral pink
and paper white flowers.
I feel wondrously small.
Inside the monument, on a bench
underneath some black bronze words,
something to do about “inalienable rights,”
she and her parents argue about where to eat.

Entranced by the sweetness of the air outside,
I let Joanna’s hand slip from mine.
I sit down on the cold, shadowy steps
just outside the marble columns
alone.
I look across the basin –
follow the golden light of the setting sun,
the little black paddle boats and ducks,
back to the grove of cherry blossoms
flowing in a wild pink wave at the edge of the water
despite all of us.

Elegy for Your Strays

If I were you, I’d R-I-P the page so fast
The pieces would look like snow
As they flew from my hands
But then again, you put down your strays
With keys and not a pen

You proudly displayed them in a box,
To garner the hearts of all who saw
You didn’t raise them
But you gave them a home
I would’ve put them through a wall of fire…
But now who’d like to say a few words?

They say the emperor wears no clothes
Which is a shame because I prefer
A fashion statement over fascist statements
But what do I know?
I probably think “Xanax” sounds like the name
Of the planet where it takes you
And that shrooms taste like
Lightly salted cardboard
But if I did, would I share these strays?
Even in casual conversation?
Even if I’m on the ISS with no reservations?
No.
I wish your strays were rescued from you,
But again, WHAT DO I KNOW?
I’m asking you to collar these strays
When I’m barely old enough
To remember Caller ID

But it looks like this is the end of your road
Turn the engine off, it’s done
What will happen to your drive
When they revoke your creative license?
I’m sorry to say your phrases were so heavy
There’s no shot at a lighter sentence

The Day the Humans Died

Do you think the animals knew what was happening
the day the humans died?
Do you think the dogs and cats fell silent
and all the goldfish cried?
Do you think the wildlife convened in congress
to decide just what to do?
Do you think the whales were aware,
and the penguins?
And the narwhals and polar bears, too?

Do you think the birds spread the news
over lands and oceans vast?
Do you think the tiniest insects knew
the humans’ time had passed?
Do you think the bats heard their last echoes
and the moles dug into their grief?
Do you think the trees quaked with sorrow over rivers murmuring disbelief?

Do you think the volcanoes,
earthquakes, and tsunamis
rang the funeral bell,
and all the hurricanes, tornadoes,
and typhoons
sat still for just a spell?
Do you think the Earth stopped her spinning
and the moon could sense what was wrong?
Do you think all the planets
and the sun so far raised their voices up in song?

Do you think they knew what was happening
the day the humans died?
What happened, my friend,
we’ll just never know –
your guess is as good as mine.

all poems are from the upcoming collection We’re Sorry, but Something Went Wrong
coming soon