aayoungmy fears are hidden at home in my onion knife
as I drink coffee that tastes like David Mamet
left it standing
downtown on a Tuesday morning
during a plague
somehow that proves
there are things I don’t regret
while we pretend to have enough choices left
the way a crumbling sidewalk shows us
dandelions will continue to grow
on the strength of their convictions
the moment he turned
and walked away
our world became peckinpah
i can no longer discern
whose blood
my hands are weeping over
Christmastime
finds
all of us
pleading with ghosts
more painful
than losing the baby
was watching you cry
and
me remembering
the November
your sweet excuse
for everything was,
“Hey, I’ve got a pregnant wife at home…”
every day
with him
was the last day
i walked into our backyard and spoke
to the witch hazel tree this morning
she was the closest woman i could find
beneath a sun that decided to shine
for the first time in a week
witch hazel calms angry skin
soothes redness and inflammation
her fleshy bark turned to me as i told her our story
though she already knew the words
she had felt the earth around her roots quake as i screamed
for the baby i tried to give you who is buried perpetually at our feet
for the day i walked out on you in a restaurant
to not hurt you with my sharpened tongue
i didn’t want to lash out at you for wounds i’m still nursing
that you didn’t inflict
the way you had the nerve to follow me
and when our eyes met
you smiled because you love my damaged heart perfectly
i told the witch hazel tree all of this
her buds bloomed yellow petals for an answer
right in front of me
-i love you, James
we were dazzling together
the way crushed glass sparkles
on asphalt
the doctor asked
if i wanted a death certificate
i said yes
proof of life
that she existed
as you can’t bury
lost hope
in a tiny white casket
there you are
right on cue
as if you personally orchestrated
my having been born
in September
the devil you know
swelling and morphing
through my dreams
your face changing
wearing various masks
such grand theatre
i weep
destroy my sheets
crying out in the night
reddest blood flowing
into marzipan rivers
oh my dear
how beautifully we suffer
this tether
my soul was lost
in an apple orchard
faded to ether
a 90 degree afternoon
in late September
leaves boiling off tree limbs
heat swirling billows
of sewer gas necrotic
urine stench blossoming
beneath the grimy crosswalk
underground rivers
of darkened discontent
glassy eyed hatred reflecting
off police car windows
drunken ballerina delirium
magic is dead beneath a tree
in Piatt Park
homeless
helpless
heroin limping
passed children unaware
their poverty is generational
a better life is four tax brackets away
no, son, no…
there is no god
in Over-The-Rhine
today