POEM //
CANDLEWAX
when I was a child I would dip my fingers in the liquid wax
of the candles on the dinner table
and let it harden
until I could peel it off in one piece and read my fingerprint
now I dip my fingers in you
and am made to harden
curled around your shape
my form becomes the shadow of your story
and I am lost
when I was a child I would dip my fingers in the liquid wax
POEM //
MARCH iii.
i went walking
this gray morning
to the place we used to meet
it’s the first Thursday of the month
so the blocks are empty
cars moved for fear of being swept away
a kind of welcoming
when i got to the shore
the grains of sand whispered
they’d missed me
nudging sweetly between the lines
on the bottoms of my feet
the water looks the same
cold, inviting
persistently folding herself over the beach
in quiet reverence
in the place between the two rocks
where we’d sit
and tell our dreams to the seagulls
a sapling is growing
baby Cedar tree
i must’ve dropped a seed
the last time we were here
when your heart still beat in your chest
and there were more dreams to be lived
now the gulls and the Cedar and i
sit in echoing silence
breathing into the shape you left
the mist comes forward
offering her blanket
we are held in the space
where you now move