on love and loss: collected poems

For Martha

You were once the one

I called when I was crying

And I could not sleep.   

- - - -

This Time

It starts as a blur, perhaps a dream, or

Maybe it's that voice in your head.

The one you hear in your car,

When there's rain on your windshield

And you can't bring yourself to fix it.

This time, it says, you'll do it.

This time, you'll follow through.

Hold on, you say, not yet.

Hold on, I can't, not now.

It gets smaller:

            (please, please, please.)

It's gone:

You walk up the stairs. Are you awake, or

Is this that terrible in between?

The one that you find in your bedroom,

When you fall asleep with the lights on

And at two AM you wake up, but don't turn them off.

This time, you think, there's a reason.

This time, you'll remember.

But what makes this different?

And how will you go on?

It gets bigger:

            (why, why, why?)

It's unavoidable:

            why?

It ends slowly, the way you dreamed it would:

Maybe entropy brought you here,

At the heat death you've been promised.

But you know it's really your fault,

And you can't bring yourself to fix it.

- - - -

Here is a list of things that I think would make me happy:

A sunflower, sent with love.

Anything, if it’s sent with love.

A new book.

A new pen, to write in the margins 

Of my new book.

A friend

Maybe two.

A sunrise in LA, 1979. 

Something new,

Something old,

Something borrowed.

Wait no. 

That’s for weddings. 

A chance to see the greenest grass.

(They say the grass is always greener).

A stuffed frog,

Like the one from when I was a kid.

A day in your backyard,

Like the ones we had when we were kids.

A sunrise Here, 2022.

Where?

Here. 

A lesson: How To

Be in love

Be happy

Be okay.

A sunflower, sent with love.

- - - -

Here is a list of things that I thought would make me happy, but didn't:

A sunflower, sent with love.

Context matters.

A new pair of shoes.

Everything always gets ruined.

An early morning to myself.

Even the birds must get lonely.

Someone to be alone with, together.

The music always lies.

One more day with you:

A phone call and a funeral.

A new book

And time to read it.

I got overwhelmed, now it's stuck on page 79 forever.

More time.

More love.

More rain.

Less sun.

I can never get enough of anything,

And there's always too much of it all.

A sunflower, sent with love,

Only works if you really want it.

And now I can't remember:

Did she really love them,

Or did I just want to watch something bright die

Again?

- - - -

For Martha, Again

When I could not sleep

You called, and I was sobbing

On the floor, again.