Summer 2018 - Vol. 15, Issue 3

"The Best of Me Creates"
 

Things to wear and warm
(yarn like colored love)
the people that take them
like living memory
from a metal hook.
 

Words to taste and read
(stories of light and dark)
for eyes and lips and hearts
that need the work of
my fingers dancing silently.
 

My own pain, lifted up
(as a drink that drains)

from wounds that I reopened
for those who need to drink
what weeps through bloody bandages.

​

Memories, in story and song,
(in yarn and blood and pain)
for when I make my home in
an urn of stone, fade into
shade, reaching for someone--

​

someone to remember.
 

"The Worst of Me Worries"

​

That people don't wear
(don't use, don't love)
the things I make them

with a nervous hook
and hours of my life.

​

That people don't read
(don't need, don't cherish)
the words that I write
for them, with shaking
fingers dancing gracelessly.

​

That people do read
(do consume, do steal)
the pain that I reopened
from wounds torn by words,
like a bloody bandage.

​

That people will move on
(turn away, and forget)
when I am ashes in an urn,
cold and gray, a lusterless
shade, reaching for someone--

​

      someone to remember.