Hey there, grass. It’s been a while. Nice to see you again. How’s the lawn holding up?

I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed the color green. (Hint: it’s a lot.) The birds chirp in the morning as I wake up. The precipitation comes as rain rather than snow. I have died and gone to heaven.

Maybe this sounds unoriginal. I know everyone who lives north of the equator is going through the same thing right now. But bear with me for a moment.

I am one of those people who will sit out on the porch and listen to the rain go down the sewer. Sometimes I’ll sit at the end of the driveway, watching the cars pass by and feeling like an endless piece of the universe. My favorite thing to do is ride my bike through the forest, and to be absolutely shrouded in trees and the rippling sound of the creek as I pedal.

You know what I’ve been seeing for the past few months? The inside of my house. The inside of my classrooms. Everything has felt so very inside. I have curled up inside of myself, socially and emotionally. I haven’t wanted to wake up in the mornings.

But now the sun is shining! The grass may be mostly dead, but it’s still grass! And grass is like a promise. Mother nature is telling us that she still loves us. Soon, she will make us happy again.

Today I wore a skirt and boots. I’ve been wearing jeans and tee shirts like every other person who doesn’t care too much about their wardrobe for a while, but today I put in effort. And that means something. I’m beginning to unfurl from the cocoon I’ve been tucked away in all winter, and it’s only going to be uphill from here.

If you are only patient, you’ll be able to watch the flowers go from bud to bloom and fill the world with color. We’ve all waited this long, we’ve all been hanging off the edges of our seats, and now the payoff has arrived. I know I will relish it with every moment. This is the climax. Enjoy.

Ciao for now,



A Vision

My soul is a warm sunny place

The grass comes up to my shoulders

And in there someone loves me


I am walking backwards

There are glares from the sun

Scattered across my eyes


Trees stand in every direction

I don’t know what color their leaves are

It doesn’t really matter


I smile flashing braces

My eyes are pinched but clear

Drawing him in


And there is a look on his face

Eyes wide mouth agape

As he realizes he loves me for the first time


We’re both laughing but it can’t be heard

Instead there is a soft instrumental

Something that I wrote


It’s beautiful and quiet

Soothing and understanding

Charming and endless


And we are both running in slow motion

Running through the tall grass

Running through my soul

Supercell: A Poem

The clouds envelop the sky

like a gaping mouth seizing prey

and make the world a subtle shade of dinge

that looks like blue

but is grey,

the lightning cackles from

a place miles from here and

turns the darkness back to day for

a fraction of a second.

I drink in the thunder,

and it fills me down into my toes,

and other parts where the sun rarely touches down

even pouring some of its heavy honey

into my eyes and

bringing out the definition

of the shadows on the pavement and on the leaves.

The low winds whistle on

their journey through the awnings,

leaving a hollow noise

to balance out the ripples

of the raindrops splashing in their own puddles

and the glare of the moon

is blanketed by sheets and sheets of cloud

that fold over and around themselves

like a dance

performed by endless numbers.

This is where I feel at home,

with the rustling noises, and the smell

of things becoming damp then

soaked, with the vision of

quilts of clumsy lace and horizontal

pellets, the feeling

of not knowing, of being

alone and afraid and in a cage and other things that are mysteriously pleasant,

the rolls of rumbling

filling and satisfying

to the last drop.

I am not a torment,

I am a misunderstood wave of love and

in a storm I find

that I am not so lonely in

being the way I am

and so I follow it East

kept warm by comfort

until the light filters back in.

Three Roses



Anna watered the rose. It wasn’t too big or too strong, but it was something she’d done with her mom. She didn’t get to do a lot with her mom since her dad ran off to live with his girlfriend and her mom took up three jobs on her own.

The rose was bright red, glowing in the garden. It seemed to enjoy the droplets Anna gave it. She imagined that with each drink, it got taller and taller and eventually it would touch the clouds.

She thought about flying away. She could be a rose fairy, like her favorite book character, Rosina the Rose Fairy, and have ruby wings and delicate crimson slippers. She would soar in the clouds with the rose.

But looking now, Anna realized that the rose was pretty situated in the dirt. Its roots made sure of it. She’d put it there not a month ago. Trapping it. Dooming it.

She gave it more water. If it was big and tall, it wouldn’t mind be stuck so much. It would be able to feel all the parts of the atmosphere and look the stars in the face. Nobody could really suffer when they were strong and healthy.

Anna coughed. She looked for her mom’s car pulling up the driveway, but it didn’t show. Saddened, and with an empty bucket, she trudged back inside.

Soft thunder started. A little bit of mist fell outside. Anna opened up the curtains and stared at the rose. Although it was two stories down from her little apartment, she had no trouble finding it. Its redness made it seem like it kept staring back at her. She kept staring at it when the lightning flashed and the harsh rain pellets hammered down on its petals, staring until she fell asleep with her chin on the back of the couch, waiting for her mother.


Of all the things Ellen expected to get in the mail with Gabriel’s return address, this was not on the list.

It wasn’t a hate letter, it wasn’t a desperate plea for her to come back. It wasn’t even a scrapbook of memories. It was wrapped up in bubble wrap and buried inside three envelopes under that.

She sniffed it. The rose smelled like a rose, despite its obvious age. A little bit of pink hid at the deepest corners of the petals.

At one point this rose had been the perfect shade of magenta. That had been over a year ago. Ellen cradled it gently in both hands, inspecting it closely with her eyes. She remembered exactly how Gabriel had looked when he’d given it to her. He was wearing black skinny jeans with a tuxedo jacket, Converse and a tie. Her first thought when she’d seen him was that she’d never seen him look more handsome. She’d smiled ridiculously. He’d blushed.

Now the flower sat in her hands. The flower told Ellen everything she needed to know, without giving a word. It was the time capsule of every promise Gabriel had ever made her, and for that reason she felt herself start to cry. She couldn’t stop remembering. She couldn’t stop looking at the blossom.

The band was still attached that she’d worn around her wrist all those months ago. Mindlessly, she put it back on.

It was almost like Ellen could feel the steps she took with him, every time she’d laughed with him. Every word she’d yelled at him before she slammed the door, every meaningless thing that had blown through her mind since then. None of that matters now, the rose seemed to say. It’s all over.

The rose was intimate, as though it brought Gabriel into the room with it. She touched it tenderly and a handful of withered petals fluttered to the tile floor. Something broke inside of Ellen. It was all over.

III–Knowing Sophie

The old man spoke as if he’d never met the girl he was talking about. He kept saying that she was always so cheerful, and loved nothing more than a day with her friends. He said things about her fantastic grades. Like that was all there was to know about her.

The Sophie that Christopher knew was much different.

He twiddled with the long, green stem of the rose in his pocket. Christopher was never good at sitting still, and now was no exception. His right foot was bobbing around in the air, and he thought one of those distant aunts had started to notice.

The rose had plenty of room in Christopher’s pocket. He’d given it a little plastic cup of water to rest in, and wrapped it in the design he’d cut out from Sophie’s favorite band shirt. Christopher had been careful to pick every needle off the stem so Sophie couldn’t hurt herself. The rose had lush, red petals, Sophie’s favorite color.

The old man said something about her love of drawing. He made her seem like the next Michelangelo.

Christopher’s foot started dancing around more quickly as he waited for the old man and everyone else to leave. It seemed like an eternity before they finally did.

Christopher walked gingerly to the grave. Soggy leaves collapsed under his feet as he made his way. Cautiously, he lifted the rose from his pocket. His hands shook as he read her name on the granite, like it was just now coming to him. With all the tenderness in the world, he set the cup by Sophie’s grave. The rose seemed to shine redder and redder next to the drab, misty colors of the rest of the world. That was the first time he cried for his little sister, and he stayed there crying until his parents pulled him away.

You and Me

Once upon a time, two people fell in love

in a place flooded with light.

The grass was littered with dandelions,

and he picked them and made her a bouquet.

He said, “For the lovely mystery

whose hair glitters in the sun,”

and he gave her the flowers.

She said, “For the handsome vision

whose eyes sparkle in the starlight,”

and she gave him her hand.

Quietly, they pressed their fingers together,

watching the sun disappear behind infinity.

The moon came to fill the hole in the sky

and brought a purple blanket.

He said, “The moon is ours.”

She said, “The sky is ours.”

They fell onto their backs and

watched the comets fly by in his pale irises.

Each time, she made a wish.

In the morning, he woke to the sight

of rainbows. Gently, he touched his hand

to the diamonds of her pale curls.

In the morning, she woke to the sight

of a closed smile and put her lips to it.

He said, “You are the wonders of the world.”

She said, “You are everything that is right.”

He said, “You are the allure of the day.”

She said, “You are the splendor of the night.”

Front Porch Serenade


I gave a dandelion kisses

Trying to make a hundred wishes

But in the end, I only scatter seeds.


I laid my body in the grass

And waited for the time to pass

But time can never fill my strongest needs.


I bandaged all my cuts and scrapes

I hid the living room with drapes

But somehow all the light kept getting in.


I wrote a song to sing to you

But never got the courage to

And now it’s just a tune that feels thin.


I counted every passing minute

Wishing that I had you in it

But my words don’t know how to do more.


I gave a dandelion kisses

Trying to make a hundred wishes

The seeds all floated softly to your door.

the sun: A Poem

i don’t care that there’s supposed to be a frost tonight.

summer is on its way,

the thing that is hot, perfect.

i can already imagine sitting outside

and writing or taking pictures,

or singing or going for a jog

under the warmth of the sun.

i can already feel the vibrations of new songs

on the radio for the first time in june

and replaced by the time july starts.

not tanning, but getting a sunburn,

and maybe wearing a sundress.

counting the clouds and walking about

and window shopping downtown.

feeling freshly cut grass through my shorts.

going to the pool in a swimsuit,

seeing other people in swimsuits.

so the weatherman can tell me what he wants, it

doesn’t mean anything to me.

the summer is coming,

hot and perfect.