He handed me
a cup of coffee
that I’m fairly certain
could have taken paint
off these peeling parlor walls

Concerned as I was
about the future state
of my empty stomach lining
I was grateful for
a little bit of warmth

I ventured a sip
prepared for the same
bitterness that greeted me
when I arrived crying
late last night

But the subtle chicory waves
that rolled over my tongue
gave me pause
and enough courage
to break the silence

It’s going to take
more

so much more

than this morning brew
and late lunch plans
and trembling hands
and eyes that pick me apart

But it’s a start

It’s 8:30 and
I’m half dressed and
I’m nowhere near ready to
start my day

Jenny told me to salt the grounds
Something about acidity
Spotting me with my paper cup in
a moment of lucidity

It still tasted awful
Homemade coffee always does
unless you’re not the one who
brewed and poured it

So I might never have
a good cup
again

Check out my interview with Jason Willis of Maple River Memories! We discuss my writing journey, some life events, and my advice for recent grads (& adults alike)!

I visited the Shinto shrine
of your beloved wife
I’d heard that she was lovely,
though I knew her not in life

I brought with me a paper bag
of large needles and yarn
A knitting project she’d begun
before her time was done

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,
I’m not quite sure what’s proper
I don’t have any prayers to pray
or any food to offer

I just wanted to let you know
That I finished your sweater
I found it in the closet
all the way back in September

For months, I taught myself to knit
And while this isn’t perfect,
I thought that you be pleased to know
your project has been finished“

I took my leave and went to work
And when the day was through
I came home and to my surprise
There was a note from you

Your handwriting impeccable
The six words hitting home
The sweater folded neatly there

“She’d love it to be worn.”

Our brains are trained to see patterns in things
Pareidolia
Faces where there are no features
Music where there’s nothing but white noise

I can find the reasoning
in (almost, nearly) anything
Confusing and nonsensical
arranged and tied up with a bow

The lack of continuity in indie films
The perfect mix of casual and chic
The phrase that breaks the parallel
The spice a dish lacks

But I can’t find a drop of sense in
why you’re gone

Originally published in Full House Literary Magazine

I remember
when my brother
had a boat
in a bottle

and we stood
completely frozen
as it smashed
on the tile

We were frightened by
the fragments
that were littering
the floor

But the look
that passed between us
had a hint
of something more

I think we thought
the bottle ship
was filled with
tiny people

and their tiny lives
were shattered like
the glass
along the marble

For a second we
considered that
there could
be survivors

and our search became
more frantic through
the cuts
on our fingers

As we picked up pieces
gingerly
and placed them on
the shelves

we soon began
to doubt that we
could even save
ourselves

Consider the pickle
swimming in brine
still a cucumber
but better

The harshest surroundings
can be so well-rounding
Amazing, the storms we
can weather

Published in WayWords Literary Journal 13

The icy trees that catch the breeze in lazy undulation
The quiet thrum and gentle hum of distant conversation
A hollow thud of glass and mug atop the kitchen table
The whoosh click whirr and bubbling purr of boiling the kettle
A pour, a pause, the steady drips; a fragrant cloud of heat
A scale that dances up in pitch as mug and coffee meet
A gentle melancholy wrapped in wood-stove smoke and plaid
As far as winter mornings go, this one’s not so bad

Published in Blood & Bourbon Issue #13

I went to write a poem about
how furious you make me
but it’s not the kind of anger
you can channel into art

See the thing is that despite my saying
this time it won’t phase me
it took all of thirty seconds for
that notion to depart

The problem is that I don’t even
know if you’re the problem
or if I’m just building pedestals
that loft you out of reach

of the growing expectations that
have built for sixteen months now
and are rooting even further down
the longer that we speak

I guess that I could be upfront
and tell you it’s exhausting
but I’m not sure how to bring it up
in ways you won’t dismiss

so for now I’ll sit here seething
looking in the wrong direction
knowing full well you can’t fix a problem
you don’t know exists

Published in Blood & Bourbon Issue #13

If I’m being honest
which you know I am

none of us expected
you to walk in

dripping from the rain and
drenched to the skin

ripping off your coat and
looking too thin

sitting on a stool and
closing your eyes

having no idea
we were nearby

ordering a drink and
swirling the glass

nodding at the server
when she walked past

listening to chatter
watching the game

bristling when someone
shouted my name

turning just in time to
rid any doubt

staring in despondence
as I walked out