Wednesday Evening

Chamomile.
Flannel shirt.
Passing the pen.
Roommates moving through kitchen.
I think of old places.
“I love that we share poems.”
I think of new places.
Crickets chirping in yard.
Taking the pen.
Flannel shirt.
Chamomile.

-L

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only mountains and valleys

she asks me about him
and if i’m going to marry him
and i laugh it off easily but

i want to know why
everything
literally everything
has to have
a tidy box to
reside in

lately i have to ask,
is something not important
or valuable unless you
marry it?

can we find value in things
as they are, as they develop
as they unfold
and change?

i can’t see in black and white
and there are so many dimensions to
being alive

i used to run along the cow pasture
my lungs burning in the cold winter air

i used to huddle under my blankets
my lungs breathing in my own stale air

i am both of these,
at once

i mean, there is no box
for me

only mountains and valleys

-A

At Great Sand Dunes National Park

The smell of campfire
Still lingers in my hair
As the wind swirls it across our faces.

We sit low between the dunes to hide from the wind.

“Will we ever recover fully from heartbreak?”
I don’t know.

But I hope that we remember bonding like sisters covered in sand
For longer than we remember the many ways in which our hearts were broken.
And I hope that if those memories must stay longer
Than the smell of smoke in my hair after two washes
Then so does this moment.

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the space between

there are things about me
that are more interesting
than whether or not he thinks
i’m pretty

or if he thinks about me
at all

i am made up of more than
pretty, more than
delicate, more than
these ideas that
fence me in

my muscles, my bones are
my own
belong to no other
than me

everywhere they have
brought me and
will bring me

standing alone on hazy mountain peaks
tending to the soil in lonely valleys
driving on my own towards something
unknown

and though i get caught up in
walls and fences
even build them on
my own

i know that
my worth is in
my hands, arms,
feet, spine

or not in these,
but rather, in
the space between

-A

Natural

she told me:
it ebbs and flows

today I observed two monarchs
in someone else’s garden
and I thought about calling you
but I decided to keep it to myself

(you laugh when I tell you the moon is my favorite celestial body
but I think you understand
because your favorite part of our weekend
was driving home in the twilight
when the sky was deep blue and silver
and the countryside dark and still)

so today I choose to observe alone
but I know that maybe tomorrow
when the cold wind brings me nostalgia
I will tell and you will listen
even if you do not fully understand

-L

cycles

i recognize the feeling
and know that
it comes
and goes

something with the moon
or perhaps, like it
my own cycle of
growing,
bearing,
and shedding

the rhythm
the blood-stained panties
the familiar ache in my abdomen

i asked myself last night,
where does suffering begin?
where does it end?

my neighbors yell and scream
in front of their children
so loud, the wall we share
quivers

and a few miles south,
the border, we call it
separates two imaginary,
yet very real
worlds –
violently

and this feeling i recognize
though it is sad,
though it is angry
it is unapologetic
it is non-negotiable

i do not bleed,
shed layers of my own
skin
to sustain the suffering
of this fragmented planet

i will only bear this,
continue to shed this
so that perhaps I can carry
the weight
that another cannot bear

-A

Cool Air

You drive
and I’ll look for wildflowers
to stop and identify along the way.
Maybe I’ll sketch the Blue Ridge
and you’ll ask me to navigate
but I’ve decided to abandon control with the city.
Keep heading South
and let me call you darling.
I promise to write poems about you
if you promise not to turn around.
You feel like home
and I know you like the life you’ve built here
but I love it when you take me far away.IMG_9098

 

-L