The Lake in September

I’m watching a man, with shiny black loafers in his hands—searching for something in the sand. I pull the knots out of my hair and ask him what he’s looking for. His eyelids are spotted purple. His heart is burning out like rain hits a candle. The man takes off his glasses breathing two heavy, and foggy breaths in the lenses.

I cup my hand like a visor to see the man with his gray dress pants rolled up. “I have everything, but I don’t have love” he said, still searching.

I get quiet and breathe only through my nose. My head hangs down like it’s on a noose and my hair draws curtains to shade the bright world. I hear the wave’s war and the kites gargling the air. My heels hit something cold and I dig to find a stone. I push the stone deep in my palm like it’s a limitless cave.

The man asks to sit next to me and places his loafers next to him. We look over to find a blonde boy with a carton of oil paints dangling from his arm. The man stretches out his legs while I start crossing mine.

The blonde boy dumps all the orange paint he had in the murky lake water. The man’s body stands still like he’s been injected with patience. His eyes spin into a galaxy like perception from the mysterious drug.

The orange is swimming in and out of the intentional waves. The only thing I can hear now is the man’s heartbeat changing into a safe sound. The sun melts in the pool of orange and disappears like lovers hands fit together. The man closes his eyes and life blows a kiss goodbye.

I shed a tear as the wind blows enough sand to cover his body. I look up and the boy is gone. I place the stone in one of the shiny black loafers—the stone says, beloved.

Intentions Under Construction on Ironwood Road

My will is on the back of a receipt—Chap Stick, Chex Mix, and Red Bull

on the front. Cody’s five day old beard is a wild fox; raging, red and brown.

My heels jab in the floor, my knees tighten, and my eyes twitch as a

loose wire suspends from the unfinished ceiling. The landlord flips off the hot

water and Kelly screams curses her parents don’t care about anymore. I hear

a toddler yell for his dad—I hope he holds him, and never lets go.

My eyes roll back in the holes of my head like a train runs through a tunnel—

I’m running with train. I cough up loose pocket change—the last

bit of hope left in me. A bald man with an earring yanks me into the moving train

and begins to paint a portrait of me. He dips the brush in black flames and scribbles

his product because I am ineligible and impoverished. A woman with raisin skin

waves goodbye as I get kicked off the train—my eyes open on the other side of the tunnel.

I offer to do the laundry and collect quarters like a biblical tax collector. I pass

Denny’s and a wooden playground—the air reeks of changing seasons and polluted

river water. I settle into a cream, cold, and creaky chair and cross my arms like

a disappointed father—just like mine.

I throw my life in with the load hoping it washes out every stain and regretful mistake.

I want to go home, but the doormat is too clean for me. 

A Falcons Forgotten Mayday

There was something about the way she wore a

black Marlboro and gray remorse as a uniform.

I would have hit her too—

Her hair is rotting road kill—delusive, disowned, and

dissolved. There’s no clock because time is a

dirty, city drifter. I would love her differently if she

wasn’t my father’s sister. There’s a peeling, brown

leather chair in the corner—the apartment air is as thick

as the book of her mistakes. A fly hovers her head.

How could she be so selfish?

Alcohol is in her bloodstream like a retired man

sits in a hot tub. There’s a leased car key in her pocket.

I can see every bone—they’re yellow like her teeth.

She tells me she has a third interview as her son slams the

door in revolt. I sip my water like its common sense

and this place is squeezing me dry. She’s crying.

There’s not a five dollar bill to her name.

How can you pity the ones who never learned?

At 19, I’m a robin and she’s a 42 year old nestling—

not yet ready to care for herself.

I hold her hand and she tenses at the police lights.

Don’t give up—

“I have run. I have crawled. I have scaled these city walls…

but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

Uncovering the Naked Gospel to the Rotten

Orange brick shelters inches apart—defective

glass cemented along the fences

She smiles warmly showing no teeth

inspecting my pasty skin and copper hair

Every step I am climbing, stashing humility and

dignity in my pocket like souvenirs

There is no dialogue

but I treasure everything she says

The untainted atmosphere makes me lightheaded,

my ego becoming a mist

My heart is coal gray and selfish—but hers,

hers is yellow and running over with thanksgiving

Mutts tremble and flee at our sight

a hound dog gallops behind

Naomi—with educated eyes, cherry cheeks,

and permitting palms in my unworthy arms

The sun polishes my skin, the breeze

whispers, and the clouds keep me company

She’s an empty-handed five year old, but

she has everything I’ve always wanted

I couldn’t stop looking at the boundless mountains

choosing to forget where I come from

You

We keep spinning and spinning—

You're everything I've ever wanted.

He tells me I'm his with only his hands,

Like flames hold you in the cold.

Hearts are soft, and blend like pastels. 

My eyes are resting, soaking up the feelings, like grass needs the rain. 

We are a porcelain set a girl is setting up to be perfect from 1920. She loves a happy ending and now it's my fairy tale. 

Safety

Getting lost in a Forrest with

Brittle branches—unstable if touched.

A river, so blue, yet green rushes

Violently like Romans charging to battle.

Robotic birds gawk at your poise and 

Confusion; they breath heavily.

The sun still peaks to check to see if

You are still sane—you are only slightly.

Thoughts fall like acorns from the tree hitting the trunks like ping-pong.

A wind of heavenly hosts rock you to sleep—to peace. 

Our Unexpected Friends

We knew it all—

At least that's what I thought.

We lie day in and day out about

Our dreams like a rainbow believes

She extends to infinity. Our dreams

Turn into horror stories to talk over

At lunch, but are they really only bad

Dreams? Imagine a single rose in

The landscape of a beautiful home,
if only it had more blossoms how magnificant

It would be—let's grow the garden together. 

We promised God. 

Real Joy

I found it in their faces, beauty

and honesty--I wanted it too.

I thought they had nothing, but

they had everything I always wanted.

It was on their mouth, their hearts,

their hands, and their life.

"God show me how to love like you

have loved me"--

I miss the children in Ecuador more than

anyone can understand. God taught me a lot

on our trip, I will never forget it. I miss

the love and the pureness in Quito, Ecuador.

I pray for those children everyday and 

that I can have a heart like theirs even here

back home.

Melting October

Gravity pulled the leaves to
Dead grass—the place was messy
And quiet; we rode together

You smiled often—it was
Contagious; emotions melted like

Crayons; look at what you have done
Reality faded softly—it was hard
To notice; You were so handsome

Food was salty and greasy; stiff
Comedians were funnier from the

Back row; if only we danced—
Birds flew high that day, I lost track
Of time—We knew it was love

Delicate Strength

Confidence is delicate glass
It broke once—or twice
Oh so delicate she thought
Snow is prettier frozen
You thought it was a mind trick
Being played like a piano
Pulse in my fingers—rosey
Cold nose; Proud I once was
Vain never to be found
You forgot and so did I
Words streamed like rivers
Flowing with no control
Paint my face—don't use tears
It's cold but you're here

Carnival Riot

You laughed, I guess I did too

The wind tasted like fried potatoes

and picked up tickets along the way

Eyes blink rapidly from the sun--

Wiping our tears of joy

You stayed with me the whole time

There's a hole in my jacket

Communication is staggered; words

Are stuttered and shattered

The bell rings, someone won a 

Stuffed prize; my palms are sticky

I guess I laughed too