The Other Side of Leaving A resident of breath, I stop existing from this moment to the next. Nothing tethers me here anymore, not heartstrings,

during the flight to atlanta I almost placed my hand upon your knee just like old times and it hurt not to do so this

I hold your waist as you transfer from wheelchair to toilet seat, pull down your wet pullup and pajama bottom, replace them with a dry

She fell into the sun. She left her body and soared, transcending the boundaries of space and time, of reality and existence, of everything and

(for Katherine, 16th anniversary)   You grow your hair longer these days, Thick black beautiful hair. It hangs loosely cropped to your shoulders, A black

Your presence disassembles me, unhinges muscle and joint, an unstrung marionette who among others remains whole— but cannot sleep, a blistered wound festering back and

(a meditation in the wake of the pandemic) The bananas I placed in the bowl just two days ago, black spotted and soft, their skins

Holding her phone aloft, a lovely arms-length away, her lips part wide from perfect snowy teeth, yet her smile can’t quite find the laugh lines

Read my lips, your name smeared all over them  like someone choking, my last words before sleep   replaces dying for another night. I can 

farewell to a white rose atop a mountain, overlooking the sea that was always dreamt but never attained, you sit, finally at peace. a single,

Listen. I’m deaf. I can’t hear you. Use your hands to Speak to me. He tilts his head … curiously. I Hear Fingers humming a

My father’s hand had a shorter finger cut by grain auger; his father, one, from infection. My hands are scarred, from work I’ve done, for

razor you say           give it to me           straight           forthright don’t

I remember this day Like the day I saw love Bless me with eyes of the stars; The day the sun came down With a

A third-floor apartment, full of emotion— lilies on the table, a coat on a chair, and a man standing by a fireplace, where flames are