Sick Day

I told my boss I was sick 

And she asked what it was. 

It's a condition with symptoms 

of running away,

pushing away,

lots of aways. 

Then you hold 

on to people,

hold on to memories,

lots of holding. 

I wanted to tell the truth 

but they normally don't grant

days off for hands shaking

with rage and fear

or throats sore

for screaming truths

and lies. 

It's the flu

I spoke,

scratched voice 

wobbling phone. 

Possibility

I wish that I needed you

so that when I don't have you

I became an immobile slab

of marble. But instead, 

I find myself only wanting you

still, mobilized by sheer possibility. 

Missing You

Sometimes I wonder 

if I will ever be able to write

about all that is currently wrong.

People keep smiling while mine

falls into the pit of my stomach.

I can only scribble how loss

is felt most when you lock

your keys in your car

or when you stare blankly 

at the spot for a non family contact.

Searchlight

We went looking 

for the end of the 

searchlight.

We could have discovered

anything. 

But instead, how it feels 

to suddenly have beacons

turned off 

in the middle of a dark

world. 

Rough Draft

There has never been 

so many blue Honda civics. 

Even my phone remembers 

ten deleted digits.

How is it?

You are everywhere

and yet somehow

nowhere.