It was the back and forth
calling at the docks, with
tides turning into waves,
splashing for attention
but still going unanswered
as you heard the creak of
wood, and still chose to
stand with your back turned,
one eye on the sky – even
the ocean couldn’t bring
you home; it was just our
chatter of promises, left
rummaging in the waters,
pleading with the dock for
an ounce of breath or a
guided light back safely.
The last time we spoke I was
too caught up in your words
to even get lost in your eyes;
eyelashes fluttering in time
to the ever rising heartbeats.
I missed the glance, except I
heard you this time – I heard
you say you’re out, but it
can’t stop my memories from
reaching out to love you so.
I’m starting to miss
the rain – the humble
falling from grace
of something so sweet,
innocent even, coming
down from the heavens
to greet us all here.
Or maybe I just miss
how you’d wrap me in
your arms with every
drop – either way, I’m
ready for spring.
I once asked my father
to dance around the living
room with me, my feet on
his as he twirled me around
the laughs and giggles filling
the room in colors of gold –
myself in a sun dress of white,
a flower and ribbons in my hair,
stepping on his cowboy boots
I remember far better on my
feet than his own. It was a
bliss that only comes in ages;
twice in memory, only once in
the presence of beauty bound.
A foreshadowing of the day
when I can embrace him and
give thanks for taking my
hand to give to another, and
allowing me to follow my heart
to grow up, to be like him.
Others called her by a three
letter name, I only ever knew
her as love personified – as
my muse dancing on the moon
between laughs of whiskey and
unreported jazz, sweet in a
rain of temptation yet sour
in a defeat of whispers and in
an attempt at people pleasing.
Still missing from my arms,
it was hard to let her go –
watching as she danced down
the aisles with two songs in
her heart, but only listening
to the one I couldn’t sing.
I still call out to her, but
she’s no longer listening to
my words, my cries in the night;
even as three in the morning
approaches and I’m lying in
bed with one ear on the phone
because I’m certain she’ll call.
No, I’m lost in the night sky,
trying to come up with some
other name to call her – but
nothing else can replace love.
I am at my saddest knowing
that listening to others opinion
is still ruled in favor of following
your own heart; not being able to
love or laugh beyond memories
cast twice in words and written
in the shadows of the moon.
We have nothing left but time to
fix, yet unless these words are
whispered by another they are no
longer truth, but rapid successions
of a lonely, still beating heart.
my heart beats
so loudly when
you’re near that
I almost didn’t
hear you say
that for me,
there’ll never
be a second
chance; it was
like trying to
revitalize the
butterflies, only
to let them drown.
A blue moon is casting
shadows on us tomorrow
night, sweet darling.
I hope that when you
gaze up towards the
sky, you’ll see my
reflection whispering
that it was all for
you on your birthday,
because distance is
the only thing you
asked for this year.
I don’t believe in fate
or chance, and serendipity
was only ever just a girl,
but she came dancing into
my life with colors of blue,
chanting storms of hope
and promise, parading about
with one hand on the horizon,
the other one twirling rain;
she was full of questions
but she was always the only
answer, and perhaps that’s
why I was left in a haze
when she was gone, clearing
away the notions of uprising
in a dance meant for two.
It was the first cool night
this summer, with the wind
whispering to the trees about
ages ago – back when we would
be sitting on the porch trying
to count the promises that we
heard in the echoes alongside
the rose bushes; back when we
were wishing on fireflies for
fire pits, not second chances
or warm rebuttals. Even with
the haze on the horizon and
a promise of stars, it was
making me homesick for fall.
Storylines in Verse 