Astral

Growing up, I knew a boy who shone silvery-white

From the top of his head to his feet.

He wasn’t blinding, but he gave off a glow

Leaving wisps of light

Trailing behind him like smoke.

They wouldn’t let him into the movie theaters,

And he was no good at manhunt or hide-and-seek at night—

People would spot him instantly and give chase

Reaching with outstretched hands as he darted away

A streak of brightness in the dark.

But we always liked having him around.

He’d been there for as long as anyone could remember,

Just quietly drifting through town, surrounded

By a constant cloud of radiance

That dimmed some during the day

But was unmissable in the night.

No one knew when he first showed up.

Some people said he had come from the sky.

I asked him once, as he walked me home one night

Lighting up the path so I wouldn’t trip or fall

How old he was, how long he’d been alive

And he looked up the sky full of glimmering stars

That we’d learned that day in science weren’t all really there

Some just ancient light from ancient suns

That burned out long ago

And he said, in a funny sort of voice, that it didn’t matter

He was pretty sure that he’d been dead for quite a while now.

But his light kept shining anyway, so nobody could tell

And I used to wonder if it bothered him        

How people would make wishes on him as he went by

Or how they’d use him to help them find their missing keys

When all the time the last of him was being used up—

He never said one way or the other.

He just stayed with us, existing, encased in luminescence

And whenever someone got lost or turned around in the dark

He would always be there to guide them home.          

Lightning

I used to run out into the rain with you 
Thunder shaking the ground
Lightning illuminating our
Imperfect faces
We didn’t care about getting our clothes wet
Cracks of light split open the sky
Wind lashed at our hair
Rain streamed past our eyes
We raised our fists to heaven
And laughed
Like nothing would ever change

Even though you’re gone now
Lightning
Still makes me feel
Safe

Life of Crime

I would commit minor felonies for you.

 

I would jaywalk, stepping out into the street

No light, no signal, no white painted lines

To meet you on the other side.

 

I would litter, trailing candy wrappers

Like brightly colored breadcrumbs

To lead you back to me.

 

I would dance, taking your hands

To twirl in the open green with you

Where the sign says to stay off the grass.

 

You make me want to sing and shout inside the library

Throw caution to the wind like so many parking tickets

Fish all the coins out from the sparkling fountain

To pour them, shining, into your hands.

 

You’ve already gone and stolen my heart;

All I want now is to shoplift yours.

Blog revamp? Maybe? Possibly?

Okay, so I've kind of let this blog die.

Part of it has to do with the fact that I started college this year, which tends to take up a lot of time; but besides that, I think that it just gets kind of boring posting nothing but poems I've already written. I need to do something new.

Don't get me wrong, I still want to post poetry; I just think I need to branch out a little, too. Maybe make actual blog posts. (I know, right? What a novelty.) What about? Not sure. But I'll figure something out.

Here are some of the ideas I have so far:

-thoughts about writing
-random stories about Things That Happened
-lists of specific details and sensations
-stupid jokes
-poem/story challenges/prompts
-pseudo-philosophical ramblings??
-idk man I guess anything that gets me writing

I think the biggest thing is that I still feel somewhat self-conscious and awkward with this blog, sort of like when I first start writing in a new journal, all those blank pages; maybe I just need to break it in.

If any of you (all three of my followers, heh) have any ideas, please drop a comment! I'm going to do my best to start posting semi-regularly. Possibly. Maybe. I hope.

In the meantime, I hope that you have an absolutely lovely day. Go have fun existing.

New Leaves

Funny how

Just last Monday, I felt as if

Everything was horrible, I hated myself, that life

Rested heavy on my shoulders

(For no actual reason—perhaps that made it worse)

And now that time feels so long ago

Like a distant memory, something experienced

By a person who is no longer me.

It’s Friday now.

I sit, staring out

One of the huge, sectioned windows of the library

Quietly marveling at the beauty

Of the tree outside, the

Intricate branches, the sprays of green leaves

Just fine enough

To see the sky through the gaps. A hawk

Slowly circles, disappearing from one window

To re-appear in the next.

I saw my old neighbor today, after years and years.

She didn’t even look like the same person.

(I think of the fortune cookie my brother opened last week—

“You will soon meet somebody from your past”

“But everyone we know is in our past,” we said,

“Anyone you aren’t looking at

Right now”)

We talked about school and colleges

And about how things have changed

And it’s funny how the people who share

Pieces of your childhood

Can leave and grow up without you

We carry the same memories, but we’re different people now

I knew her once, but now I don’t.

I turn over a quiet melancholy

And stare through the glass at the fluttering leaves

Until the windows themselves seem to become a poem, wordless,

Etched into my mind.

Only a few months ago

The branches of that tree were bare. Now each leaf

Is new, but the tree

Is still the same. I hated myself last Monday

And I know I’ll hate myself again

But I don’t hate myself today. The leaves shimmer,

And the sky is so bright

That when I close my eyes, I see colors, changed.

Teacher's Lunch (Love Among the Quahogs)

(Wrote this during a summer writing program using three very unrelated prompts. I meant to post some summery poems last month, but now, though it still technically is summer, since everyone is going back to school (I start college tomorrow! Just throwing that out there), I thought this would be more appropriate.)

The professor’s stomach

Twisted inside him

And not because of the shrimp.

She was sitting right across from him

Dark hair falling out of its bun

Her eyes crinkling up as she laughed—

Why was she so beautiful?

He hadn’t really planned on coming

To the teacher’s lunch;

He disliked crowds

And being ignored

And restaurants in general.

But then she had asked him at the end of the day

English books in her arms

Her glasses perched on top of her head

If he was coming that night;

Fumbling, he had no choice

But to say yes.

Now he tried to think of something to say

Cracking open a lumpy gray quahog

Feeling uncomfortable and boring

In his musty brown suit

While she talked to the biology teacher

About the book she was teaching

In her class, saying

“He may seem foolish, but, you know,

Dreams aren’t something you can control.”

The professor wanted to add something clever

Or witty

Or intelligent

Or thoughtful

But he hadn’t read the book

So he kept reaching for the quahogs

To keep his hands busy

Prying open the rocky shells

Imagining that within there would be

A luminous pearl, round and bright as the moon

He could polish with his handkerchief

And grandly give to her—

She would smile at him then.

He lost himself in this fantasy

Letting the conversations around him blur

Almost relaxing in the noisy, crowded room

Until he opened his last quahog

Slowly

And saw that there was nothing inside

But a slimy, grayish lump.

Of course that’s all there was.

Why did he think it would be any different?

He looked up

And there she was

Laughing at something the biology teacher had said

Her eyes crinkled up

Not at him.

The professor pushed away

His treasureless plate of quahogs,

Stomach squeezing again

With a different sort of ache.

Dreams aren’t something you can control.

God, he hated seafood.