There is a year that has never left me.
It has successfully stitched sickening moments into my skin and branded silent screams into my soul.
Some nights I imagine that those memories could be burnt away. As if my pain could curl up and combust like paper that has been lit on fire.
As if I could strike a match against the faint patchwork of scars stretching across my thigh and flick a sulfuric flame onto everything odious that happened that year.
I always hope that it burns fast.
And I always pray that it ignites your name first.
Powerscourt
The Stage
Tethered
One more fiber of the rope
tethering us together has been cut.
Now it has been severed to the point
that either one of us may completely
drift away at any given time.
I would reach for your hand to keep me afloat,
but sadly it has not been present for quite some time.
Yet maybe instead of drowning in these desolate depths without you I will finally learn to fly.
Why should I continue counting on you and your cold constraints when I no longer care to be grounded?
Collided
We didn't touch, we collided.
Without hesitation our bodies
melded and merged into one.
Leaving us unable to separate
and unwilling to try.
The Geese
Today I caught sight of the geese
flying in a v-formation flock above my head.
I had forgotten how they do that.
How they have learned to fly together in such a perfectly, imperfect point of direction.
In such a linear, similar way.
I felt sadness at first and caught myself grimacing.
The last time I'd witnessed their well-structured flight it had been nearing winter.
But then I reminded myself that they were simply returning for spring.
So I remembered to smile.
Alley Vines
Front Door
Your childhood home has new owners,
but the front door is still the same.
I wonder if they like the way the lock sounds
as it clicks into place like you did.
Or if they've become curious about why the left bottom panel's paint is peeled in such a peculiar place.
Maybe they'll replace it this summer
when the weather is nicer.
Or maybe I should compliment
their door so they don't.
Flower Shop
Shadow on Door
AO Poetry 
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