in this room; behind the computer, Read More
is a wall of windows.
It is on the second story and rarely
does anyone look in,
though I am always looking out.
I wake up to a vision of her sitting on the floor of my bedroom, her back pressed to the door. Her hair curls around her ears, the color of sunlight. She sits with her knees bent in an oversized grey sweater that pools around her naked thighs. Her hands are covered. I can’t see the engagement ring her fiancé gave her.
“Come here,” I tell her.
A cool breeze flutters in from the open window, fluttering the curtain. I turn towards it. The last dredges of winter still linger on the glass, tiny trails of frost. When I look back at the door, she’s gone. Read More
it makes its way in from the lemon
if you head to the hills, it lives Read More
up here, among smell of salt
and ocean-rind, behind the slow cure
& i, not knowing how to love
I met her in early January on a sidewalk in Missoula, Montana. It was only nine but it felt past midnight, the dark and cold thrumming along my skin, the stars dagger points suspended in the frozen air. A puff of air came from her mouth as she said her name and extended her mittened hand. I offered my own name puff and reached back. The snow crunched beneath our boots as we parted ways, hurrying to our vehicles. Read More