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Poems
The Teashop on Madison Street

The Teashop on Madison Street

We stopped at the teashop on Madison Street. Abstract renditions of flowers hung from the walls. A case displayed little pastries, perfect and neat. The worker behind the counter gave us a smile. We returned the greeting and found a seat.

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I Knew Him

I Knew Him

Recently I had a dream; creeping and stealthy, it quietly came. The pictures I saw were dull and blurred, but the air about me with voices stirred. Confused at first, but gradually clear, each one shouted, “I knew him here!” Then one spoke out, the voice of Flesh, soft and low amid the clamorous rush.

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The In-Between

The In-Between

I walk the length of another road, but endless paths branch from it in every direction. The journey was arduous but rewarding in strengthening me so I can climb another mountain. I’ve learned from the steps I’ve taken and the hurdles I’ve leapt over, even when the rocks seemed too tall, too daunting for me to ever hope of overcoming.

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Glass Jar

Glass Jar

I didn’t mean to let my fingers slip. I had my life gathered in salt-stained glass jars, laced with coffee-grind drifters and blood-thrifted stress. I’m standing in shatters I haven’t swept, lost in sharp seas with no land in sight. Please slow down.

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Martha’s Lament

Martha’s Lament

You asked me if I believe. I’m not sure after all my sister and I have endured. What made You stay so far away from Your friend and us in our dismay? Yet one truth I know despite the pain: I know my brother will rise again.

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Snow Glass

Snow Glass

The sunlit world is all aglow while shafts of golden brightness find the dust of diamonds on the snow. But darker seem the lines of shade—long lines of shadow on my mind. The peace seems ruffled by my tread, the sunlight turned to bitter glare: ablaze the snow, yet cold and dead, the shining diamond dust is dulled with tarnishes of twisted care.

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Love Is

Love Is

Love begins and never ends. Love is, with justice never distant, raveled and unraveled, here, everywhere. No departed utterance, it endures beyond sounds…

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Ice Age

Ice Age

I feel the silent march of time like a glacier crawling, haltingly, toward an open and unknown sea, the gulls’ joyful weeping haunting me under the wintry brilliance of sun and the piercing sky.

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Cliff Top

Cliff Top

I never meant to bring you along to this cliff, but still, here we sit, watching the tide roll in. The sun sets in the vast emptiness, and I wonder if you know this isn’t a detour, rather, the journey. I fretted over this future a while ago; I almost didn’t accept in hopes you wouldn’t know that this is the place it was all going to lead up to. I hope that someday when you look back on it all, you don’t convince yourself I misled you all the way here.

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Poetry Isn't Just for Poets

Poetry Isn't Just for Poets

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