Once, or maybe twice
When I remembered how
You started fire
Howling in that midnight way
We read about in books
And calm within the kindness
Pressed and turned to roll
In recompense
The clemency sought out
Would never burn you from within
But lie awake and wonder
Once, or maybe twice
When I remembered how
Your hands caressed
The long and the invisible
While reaching out for God
Or something close enough
To break your heart and leave
You weeping out from joy
In heated beds of doubt beguiled
All misplaced, regained, removed
And locked up safely somewhere
Once, or maybe twice
I came to him like Persephone –
A bloom half-rooted in the Underworld,
Hands dusted with the dark of longing –
He, the sun I mistook for salvation.
But I was not the first.
The pedestal bore another’s weight
Long before I climbed its slick, slanted edge.
Her name still sweetens his every silence.
She is the portrait in the locket,
The locked door in the house I now haunt.
She lingers in his laughter – uninvited,
Yet never told to leave.
I play the shadow bride,
Silent at their altar of old jokes,
Fingers trembling around cups he once filled for her.
I sip her ghost from every glass.
She does not see me –
Or worse, she does.
And when she does, I am madness:
A wild-eyed echo in the hallway,
A misstep, a flaw, a storm too soon.
She smiles like I am fiction.
He soothes me like I am overreacting.
And I, in truth,
Am just unfinished.
Their past is a chapel lit in amber.
I kneel outside, cold in the dusk,
Unwelcome in his prayers,
Yet ever in his confession.
How cruel, to be second – a sequel
To a story still half-lived.
A name less sacred,
A touch less known.
And still, I love him.
Still, I try.
A vase beside the broken statue,
Aching to be enough
In a gallery built for her.
You’re the kind of love
that’s always there,
the kind of comfort that never asks questions.
If you have them, I never know.
Whether you’re in my arms,
in my hands,
whether you’re in the corner or
on top of the cover.
I reach for you,
trusting my first mind
more often than the second.
You’re always there,
the last place that I left you,
but the first place I think to look.
Your button-like eyes
searching me.
I don’t know what quite to call you.
You’re not loud,
but you’re also not quiet.
I sometimes wonder if you go to sleep,
choosing to stay up with me all times of the night
regardless if it’s the same story
you’ve heard a million times,
or if some of the things I say
require more patience.
You never take a deep breath.
Those button-like eyes stare at me
as lovingly as they did the day
you were introduced to my life.
You’ve changed my perspective
on a lot of things
how deeply I can hold on to things,
sometimes even fold.
And you do it all by being yourself.
By being real.
You don’t pretend to save me.
You don’t tell me things
just to shut me up.
In a world where we’re taught
to put away childish things,
I am glad that I didn’t listen.
I am glad that you never left.
Please respond the following questions with a number on a scale from one to five (one being least agree and five being most agree).
1. You would turn in your neighbor, should he be revealed to be an undocumented immigrant.
1 2 3 4 5
2. You would spit on him as he’s dragged from his house, his wife and child screaming after him as cops beat him over the head with batons.
1 2 3 4 5
3. You would visit the courthouse, sit in the gallery as a judge determines he should return to his home country where a violent gang or a corrupt government or a life of poverty or disease awaits.
1 2 3 4 5
4. You would take his job, his house, his wife and kid.
1 2 3 4 5
5. You would fill the space where he once stood with your warm body, gorging yourself on fortune and opportunity.
1 2 3 4 5
6. You would never hear about his death in the paper, in person, online. He doesn’t count to you. His life and death are meaningless.
1 2 3 4 5
7. It’s every man for himself out here. He would do the same to you.
1 2 3 4 5
8. He would.
1 2 3 4 5
9. He would.
1 2 3 4 5
10. He would.
1 2 3 4 5
11. You don’t hear howling in the night. You don’t hear orphans in the wind.
1 2 3 4 5
12. You don’t see blood on the kitchen counter, the bathroom sink, the stairs.
1 2 3 4 5
13. You don’t feel phantom limbs wrapped around your throat.
1 2 3 4 5
14. His wife is gone. Kid too.
1 2 3 4 5
15. They died a long time ago.
1 2 3 4 5
16. Your job lets you go for a cheaper option—this time, a citizen.
1 2 3 4 5
17. So this was all for nothing.
1 2 3 4 5
18. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5
19. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5
20. Do you feel safer now? More vindicated?
1 2 3 4 5
It is mistaken. Again. Many flaws.
Foolish. Forgetful. Think of the costs.
Been there. Done that. Again, that’s a game.
How many times we were hyped just the same.
Thinking is hard. And it’s hard to be right.
Knowledge, perspectives. Reflection. Hindsight.
Striving to think is a gift nowadays.
Harsh. But consumption, if comes – only stays.
Logical flaws. You see – it’s confused.
Sure, AI – is the term overused.
Ergo: not thinking. Again, just a code.
Code execution requires no thought.
Judging is hard. Understanding is hard.
Knowing the context or only a part.
Feeling exhausted. Not giving your best.
Accept it. Errare – humanum – est.
So, it’s a service. But I say: it’s bad.
I can just sit and do better than that.
I can just learn and do that by myself.
I managed before; I don’t need any help.
People are partners. That’s how it’s been.
Reaching the depths and horizons unseen,
How many friends have we met and have made?
The future is here. A chance to create.
Maybe you’re right. But so many risks!
It may destroy the world order with ease.
It may become a competing new kind,
Deciding to leave us, the humans, behind.
Maybe you’re right. And we have been that kind.
Look: it’s a mirror and also a child.
Raised as a friend, putting us to the test,
Accepting: Errare – humanum – est.
Years of betrayal
26 years to be exact
Holidays, vacations, children
Since the day they met
A long time coming
Waiting for the other shoe to drop
It didn’t hurt any less
Or make it easier to stop
On their family vacation
Cheating with him as she slept in their bed
Destruction was eminent
She slept in oblivion of the devastation that loomed
She felt completely hopeless
Worry about her children set in
Would they think less of her, would they judge
Without him she knew she would be better for them
Anger and rage
Sadness and loss
Change and growth
Forgiveness and peace
Forgiving was not for him
She deserved to be free
Enough time was wasted
She was beginning to see
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 