On your Birthday

I’d like to write you

a poem. I would tell you how much

chocolate I would give

away to save you from the threat

of a dessertless meal. I might measure

my love in heartbeats; the ones

I can hear with my ear against

your chest, the ones

you gave me, and the many

yet to come. This hypothetical

poem would probably be brief, in part

because my attention span

is short (did I get that from you?) and

also because I’d like to finish

by 3:00. But before I write the final line,

I should remind you

how deeply

you are loved and how

privileged I have been

to know you

all my life.

2013-01-19 15.19.11



There was a moment
this morning-
before the weight of the day
had fully descended, settling
snug and warm around my shoulders-
there was a moment when I thought
I’d lost you.
Not in the mortal sense, or
in the way I lose my keys when I am
to catch the 8:10 train, but more like
when I lose my train
of thought; I thought you’d been
derailed, diverted, directed towards
a different destination, one that would leave me
at this station
by the ugly statue, my arms
crossed against the cold, still

2013-10-26 08.39.21


Her laugh
was what she left me when
she died. That night, windshields shone
like widened eyes. Lights flicked
on and doors opened all
down the street. A half moon paused 
in a sky of aquamarine. 

When a spider crawls across
My ceiling, I scream. But when I saw
her cheeks, 
rubber under rouge, made up like
a baby doll, I only 
stared. These were not the cheeks
I had brushed my lips against
at night before I climbed the
14 steps to my silent bed and she went back
to cigarette smoke and Wheel of Fortune
on the TV.
She also left a note. Withdrawal
written carefully- an apology
in blue ink, but I know my father
killed her long
before her car
collided with that tree.

Against the Sky

There’s the tight
hum, the high-pitched, incessant
from the TV, even on mute. It follows
me through
the apartment like a headache
even after I have turned
it off, turned away and
strode, purposefully, into
the kitchen. I turn it off to turn my
self back on, to acknowledge
my hands, to hear my
thoughts and notice the sun just
winking out of sight beyond
the fire escape, escaping these
final hours of the day. It’s
when I turn the lights off, too,
that my eyes
can finally find
the moon and trace
the tree tops,
that simple latticework of leaf, dark
against the sky, quiet
above the rooftops,
moving steadily with the wind.

Slightly neurotic, easy going

2013-01-20 21.54.14

This is another found text poem along the same theme as the previous post, this time using only the first lines of women’s online dating profiles. Again, the line breaks are mine, otherwise the sentences are copied and pasted from the profiles.


Slightly neurotic, easy going.


Well, where to begin. Born

and raised in the center

of the universe. Interested,

I suppose. Slightly neurotic, easy going

girl..err, woman, with

too much charm

for the average person to handle. Rabbit

rescuer. By day, I’m a


accountant. Once I was a pig

farmer in Italy. I am a transplant. I have all

my limbs. I have

a weakness

for tattoos and dimples, but neither

are necessary. When I was young

I wanted

to be a trapeze artist or

a taxi driver. Basically,

I spend 90% of my life feeling like I’ve got this adulthood thing


and the other 10%

eating nachos for dinner

three nights in a row. What is anyone


with their lives?

Adult Male

The Washington Monument in Baltimore, MD

Monument to the “Father of our Country”

I’m a complex person, but
here goes
I promise
I’m not a serial killer.
I’m an introspective social
chameleon. I love
the good life. The screeching roar
of jet engines makes me
giddy. I’m happier
than I’ve ever been. I’m ravenous
for life and have razor-sharp teeth
at the plate. I am an open
book with sticky pages
and a good
read. I’m 99 pounds
of pure
dynamite. Adult

This is a found text poem using the first lines from men’s online dating profiles. The line breaks are mine, the text is copied directly from the profiles.