dad

  • Tired 7 6 5 4

    Life drags my body moves because it knows nothing else to do, yet breathing hurts like a fracture that never mends.The nights stretch, each one longer, the stars nothing but cold eyes watching What was once warmth is only dust now, slipping through my fingers as the mirror does not lie, a hollow face, pale… Read more

  • My son, I love you

    To Memory: Memory,you are a delicate thread, a tape-loop of laughter, hands molding clay,sticky ice cream fingers,the way he’d tilt his head,as if trying to catch the light and the sun that danced in his smiles I count the birthdays missed,balloons floating to ceilings,each one a year without his giggles, and there’s silence rather than… Read more

  • webbed dust

    dust collects on the edges of memories living room walls grayed with outlines of what was,photographs hang in webbed silence each face frozen in a laugh that no longer resounds Their love as a vase cracked, yet still holding water,the stems of our shared days with petals dry, dead on the floor, they dropped only… Read more

  • Why, How, Reason?

    How do you write, why do you write; I was asked, and so with the weight of the room upon me and in a fragile breath I replied: Affective empathy,partial hyper empathy,I taste the salt of sorrow along with the sweet ache of absence,each word a single cord, becoming either a noose or a safety… Read more

  • ROI

    In the sanctuary’s stillness hymns flow gracefully ,each note a question:what does it mean to believe when the heart is a closed door, and silence fills the spaces? Memories are fractured, like a child’s drawing of a house with sunshine in the corner with the sky gray which holds no promise as I write the… Read more

  • because He lives

    I do not fear any door closing, nor the weight of absence that settles over empty fields as sunflowers bow alive in stillness and silence For over 10 years I have courted chaos, and her friend loss took my hand, as to steal me away then Death saw me and smiled for he is an… Read more

  • the essence of growing up

    Inside my rib cage lies a grave marked with 6 names and on the ground surrounding it are the remnants of a boy lost in memories and dreams,starved of life, breath fading; lost beneath what could have been This boy, that I the old man am, are one in the same: He often does not… Read more