temporary lodging

i come over
once a week
sit in my usual place
take off my boots
have a beer
scatter my things across your table
before i put my feet on it.

we spin grandma’s
records and tell jokes,
but you should know
you are under no
obligation to provide
temporary lodging
to me and my turquoise.



took my then-husband
to that dive bar
think you were turnin 27
and I realized we were
the exact same age.
there was a beautiful woman
on your arm
and there was a drawing of a woman
on the dress I wore

we were only kids, then
and everything was sure to shatter.

new year’s eve
some time later; same dive bar
you kiss me at midnight
and maybe we’re both still shattered
but the pieces really seem to shine.

half spent wildflowers

do you remember the park
filled with sunshine and
half spent wildflowers
we went to august before last?
the bench in the shade
where you wanted to make love,
but i was afraid of splinters
and passing children,
so i sat in your lap instead
while you put your hands
up my dress
and told me you loved me?
that bench went underwater
in the historic storms
that flooded our homestate,
and every trace of our love washed away