Kind of Tired

That kind of tired where
Everything feels
Heat shimmer above hot pavement

That kind of tired
Where you stagger and toddle and drop things
Your eyes blink on
Independent circuits
Breathing and swallowing
Are a chore

That kind of tired
Where you don’t remember
Driving home this evening
Or most of the day’s events
And there cease to be
Individual days
Only one long, merciless one

That kind of tired where
Waking up feels like
Being yanked from some
Event horizon into
The black hole of weekday morning

That kind of tired where
You would pray to
Gods you don’t even believe in
Just for another hour of sleep

That kind of tired
I live through every day


Not the Girl

I miss who she was
Who I thought she was going to be
She dropped a bunch of her friends
Myself included
Like dead weights
The last time we spoke
She was different

Still as interesting as ever
But not the girl
Who dubbed us name twins
And called me Gertie
Not the girl with the Marilyn hair
And loopy, juvenile handwriting
That was scrawled on notes passed
Back and forth
Not the girl I quoted movies
And fawned over Bobby with
Not the girl with the cutesy
Pursed-lip grins flashed after saying
Something smart

Human nature is to
Grow         evolve         change
Sometimes that comes with
Unfortunate                 results

Serene Autumn Scene

Gentle rain falls
From a flat, muted gray sky
To cool the red, gold, brown
Fiery autumn tree tops
And shed circles of brilliant leaves
Around their bases

Light, crisp wind blows them
In handfuls
Onto the slick slate shingle roof
Of a brick cape cottage
Nestled in the woods

Surrounded by the
Bright symphony of autumn colors,
It is dressed in dense ivy,
Its black shutters made glossy by the rain
A trail of cotton candy smoke
Wafts from the chimney and
Perfumes the woods

Inside, the smell of wool and
Sweet, burning wood wafts and mingles
From room to room
Dancing with the mellow scent of
Old books and warmth of spices

You are buried in an overstuffed chair
Under a chunky cable-knit afghan blanket
Next to a crackling woodstove
And a window that the rain taps
Lightly against
With a book pulled up to your face
Filling your nose with old book smell

You nod off to the
Melody of fall


Who decided abandoned houses
Are blight?
Blending in with the woods,
Naked again with their paint gone,
Now clothing and hiding themselves in
Vines, brush, tall grass
Easily passed by
Retired peacefully and
Seeing themselves out
Resting and forgotten

But meanwhile, what’s seen as
New buildings sticking up
Out of the ground in
Tall, uniform masses,
Stories and stories high begging for
Like sad-colored vinyl-clad
Oversized, monstrous, unnatural
Stacking people on top of
And directly next to one another
Uncomfortably close

Is somehow considered better.

Dear Marilyn

All you wanted was approval.
Of, if only you’d stuck around
You’d see your face plastered on
Shirts, ads, quotes you never said

All you wanted was to like your appearance.
Women look up to you as a style icon
And model their ideal body image off you-
You’re seen as a golden standard

All you wanted was to be a serious actress.
Every time you put on the makeup,
The fitted dresses, the pin curls,
The red lips, sweeping false lashes, beauty mark
Every time someone called you Marilyn
Instead of Norma Jean, darling,
You were.

In the Library

In the library,
The crippling existential crises
That usually grip me
Do not exist.
The common rages and anxieties
Associated with struggling to be
Someone in their twenties in this day and age
Don’t matter.
The high, heavy ceiling beams
And picture windows
Don’t give a single fuck
About the terrible setup
We got from generations before,
They simply let in the light.
The place simply stands.
A sanctuary.

Snow Day at Work

Looking out the window
At the scene outside
Wrapped in opalescent haze
From heavily falling snow,
A sense of calm washes over me
That I have never felt here before.

The place is cleaner, emptier,
Quieter than usual,
And nobody has bothered me today.

The snow has brought peace.