There’s something to be said for those who embrace a long day. The ones who calmly get in their cars to drive the long drive home. Those who take in the road and the dogged thoughts it brings. Jagged ideas of the past and unclear future visions.

Tired eyes, twilight and awe. There’s something to be said for those who inhale the present moment.



Jet engines fly through ambient air, way above, in the troposphere. A whooshing, whistling of wind. The twitching and swaying of branches. Dry leaves toss themselves around the corners of an open garage. Some make their way outside, to dance down the road or across the growing grass. Sunlight illuminates the land, a faint green-yellow.

As the clouds pass over, you are the shadows. You are the dimming light and the intensifying sun.



It was one of those stale mornings,
crisp air, shredded clouds over a
grey-blue sky,
an outside she hadn’t even breathed yet
as the heavy weight of day-to-day
kept her down and in bed.
As soon as her navy eyes flashed open,
the dreaded thoughts came rushing.
Work. Money. Filth. Fights. Today.
And the next day and the next day.
She pulled her warm hand to her face
and sighed with sorrow and self-pity.
She never wanted to get up,
her mind was like waves
swallowing into themselves,
like salt water sucking up sand and shells,
debris smoothed by the undertow.
She threw the covers off and exhaled again.
She readied herself despite the fleeting drive.
She was a dimly lit flame
on an old induction range,
and she reminded herself
as she stepped barefoot from bed;
There are dark days ahead,
but today is not one of them.


Feeling faded and torn, don’t let them turn your grit to agitation. That old air holds winter cold, dust and stagnancy. You’ll find ways to shake it. You know now, they have limerence for a way of life that can never be. And recognize, at the doors of doubt, there’s a fine line between loving something and convincing yourself to love it.


A cluttered garage building up around me like the thoughts in my head. An electric space heater, unanswered questions and the debate of if I should shower now or later. Toes kicking up and down, a shaky leg. Days ago the nice weather was a tease, a warm interlude to make the grass a little drier, to make the cold days colder. December is tomorrow and the clock is ticking. “Don’t waste your days,” he said in that last phone call. It was a week ago but his voice echoes between my ears. Never stern but serious, the sound of a man who understands sorrow, a man who’s cautiously putting pieces back together again.

Screeching brakes outside an icy floor; they’re here to take the trash away. The sun peeks through from the corner of my eyes and so I sit with my father’s advice. Don’t waste your days, honey. Put that cigarette out. Get your novel done.

With feet on fire from the fake fireplace, I’ll go back inside, through the creaking door to the empty house. My laptop has a novel waiting to be revised and my father made a family that depends on me now.


BLURRYShe was the new girl yet again. Late August heat, hair a little blonder, she wore sun-kissed skin. A twenty-fourth birthday and graduation around the corner. There was no way of knowing then, how her life was about to change. A magnetic pull, the end of an era. She could feel it in her bones. Like the left side of a book getting heavy as the right thins out. She never met a man so charismatic. The kind that draws you in with deep-to-the-core conversations. And the laughs, my god, are they unmatched. When he makes her laugh, she tilts her head back and the whole world disappears. She could find him in the dark.

In a sea of strangers there would be no searching.