Tag Archives: poetry

Mountain of Rocks

Among the mountains, tall with their peaks
Are small mountains of rocks
Surrounded by rivers and streams
They go unnoticed, as the mountains stand high
Withstanding most natural disasters
But often: Avalanche!
Residual rocks
and dirt and dust
crumble a
cross the

are built
of these rocks
You and I were
made to fall apart over
and over and then build ourselves back up again
Falling back into place, each time stronger

The dirt and rubble piles high over time
At first, just appearing
as small piles of rocks

But what the wild notices is different
than mere human recognition
Nature knows better:
Those small piles of rocks
Become mountains over time

Watch what happens in the wild over time
With rocks like that strength gathers
and moves rocks into mountains
Moving mountains is hard
Try building one from
A mountain of rocks
It’s worth the wait of nature

Your Pain

I am trying to remember
Your pain
While leaving space for mine
I am trying to forgive you
But you keep nudging
And nudging
In small ways
Never letting me forget your existence
And how could I?
We are entwined
Even after they cut the cord
Even after
I cut it myself
With each slight nudge, I almost fall for it
I almost fall
But I am not ready for us to exchange words
I am not ready to hear your voice
I am not ready and neither are you
We need time
And perhaps
We’ll fall back into place
But not this place
Not this space

The greatest tragedy is that I am starting to forget
What the space was like
Before I cut the second cord

Before I had to


I found an old necklace
You gave to me
Several birthdays ago
Only now it smells
Not of smoke
But of dust
A smell I much prefer
It is not a nostalgic pang
Of awful memories from years past
It doesn’t make my head spin
My eyes close
Doesn’t make me close the box
Hide away in a drawer
It is not smoke now
It grabs at me and indents
It lies against my chest
Saying here, I’m here
I’m still here
It hangs around my neck
But it doesn’t weigh me down
Doesn’t hang heavy anymore
Like smoke in the air


Why does this always happen?
Here comes the sickness:
A stagnant and still pain
It follows me where I go
I can’t seem to find time,
that is free of any sort of pain
They say though, what is life without suffering?
But I just want to say:

It’s me, isn’t it?
Trapped in this body
enduring the ruins of loss
I am a magnetic field for pain
Because I know it well
Because I’m a caretaker,
at heart
It didn’t stop with mom
It started there, my innate need to save
When all I want to do is live

I think this is living
And sometimes, it feels closer to death
Another part of living that I can’t seem to shake
The constant nearing of loss

Sometimes I feel my needs contradicting themselves
And my words too
Which I have silenced for so long
Because they too are conflicted and inflicted
With pain, with uncertainty, with indifference
And painfully with apathy

I have silenced myself
I have kept silent, stagnant, still
It’s less conflict
It’s less real
(if it isn’t written)
(if it isn’t spoken)
No longer is it fresh
Words so dull they fall off my tongue and collapse
Words that have been so muffled, they look like shapes of words
That once were sentences
And now just lay there
Dead weight that I need to let go of
but I only lay there with no sound

I think I silenced for too long
But I can’t carry the words anymore


I keep coming back to this place
It keeps happening
Surrounding me
Everywhere I end up
I am a magnet to sadness
A magnet to the dark
I keep getting pulled in, wrapped up
All I’ve been is a bright light
Dulling and flickering out

I never wanted
To be
without sadness
It’s a part of me
This sad piece in my head
I drift into and out of from time to time
But did I always want to be
A flickering light?
Encompassed by darkness
Covering me
Like a veil
Everything painted
With a dark tint

Did I always want this?
Did I?
I’m not so sure

Under Folds

We put winter clothes away
And pull summer clothes out
We put summer clothes away
And pull winter ones out
I do the things you taught me
You don’t teach me anymore
But I imagine you unfolding
And unfolding
And putting away
And taking out
And folding
Back, over, under
The way you showed me
You do all the same things
Just the way you showed me

And we put the things away
For them to be taken back out
We take them back out
Only to be put away
Far, far
Back and away
Into the box
Under the bed
With the shadows
The crumbs, dust
Where not a thing glows
Where it’s quiet, still

But still,
We put things away
Because we don’t want them out
We put things away
Because we don’t want to see them

We put things away
Because we desperately want to see them


Frosted January

I drag my hands
the frosted blades of grass
Tips of frost underneath my nails
So cold
they burn
And I burn with
where am I going?
what am I doing?



I drag myself
across the lawn

Then I lift myself
Throw my hands
To the sky
I am
I can’t
I just
To slow time
To slow down even more
the infinite wait
of dragging
Always in between two places
Two points
Two moments
I can’t seem to dig my hands hard enough
Deep enough
Into the grass and grab it
A handful of grass
and dirt
and life
I can’t seem to grab hold
And so I drag myself


On rainy days
When I put on sad music
When it’s grey and dewy outside
You come to mind
And I’ve no passion
The past trickles
Down the window
The memories pour
Into me and swim
You’d call me
Not often by my name
I’d listen
I’d hear
Each singsong name would roll
Off the tip of your tongue
And dance
Into my ear drum
Inside of me
I’d listen and follow
And now
As the rain is dying down
As the dribbles lessen
As the fog clears
I remember the moment you stopped
And called me nothing


You were two figures
But now two seats
And all I see
Are empty seats

I made a meal
For us to eat
But all I see
Are empty seats

Instead of eating
I silently weep
Into the plate
It seeps and seeps

Seems I have
A recipe
A menu to complete
Preparing meals
for ghosts to eat


Sitting at the kitchen table
and hearing
The pluck of strings
The drum of beats
The instrument–
of tugs, of holds,
of pushes, of pulls
These sounds
Filling up the room
And there I feel
A tug, a push, a pull
A feeling
as though my heart
contained by a delicate, pale sheet
will fall out of my chest
onto the table
A flat surface supporting
a heavy, fragile organ
Here I feel it
Pushing its way out
The organ coveting music
An addiction to sounds
Sounds you once uttered
Now crooning