I love the sounds of 
their sleeping breath near me through
the cold, black, long night.

He talked in that way
that told a story with each
syllable he breathed.

She lived in the gum
drop trees, on marshmallow dunes
near the River Fudge. 

The morning was dark 
and so cold. It took so long
to become the day.

Oh, you, sky that I 
could fly in to and float through
forever, always.

I thought I hadn't 
read it and I had. The poems
were marked with stars.

She was not the babe
I thought I'd have and I felt
like a bad mother.

She made fun of him 
to her parents and it made 
me super angry.

She sings me songs. Her

voice is a whisper. She knows 

what my heart might need.

"For here you are, 

standing there, loving me whether

or not you should."

                  -The Sound of Music

He had on a button-
down shirt and our kiss at 
midnight was awkward.

Speaking of that New Year's
Eve, I don't remember it 
particularly well. 

I was twenty. There 
was sweet vermouth on the rocks 
and a New Year's Eve.

He stroked what he thought 
was the baby's leg, but it 
was really my hand.

The cat slinked across 
the yard. Unaware was the 
bird of its demise. 

She squished dandelion 
seeds in her fingers. I saw 
wonder on her face.

Sometimes you have to 
make a million things before 
you make one thing great.

The day felt so dark. 
It wasn't, completely, but 
it sure felt that way.

We traipsed around
Barcelona with cards until 
we got asked to leave.

My writing is sad.
It won't come out today. It 
wants to be alone.