You told me life was impermanent, that like dandelions, we all fade

And I’m too ashamed to say that I don’t want to be alone

I’m too scared to admit

That I find meaning in every little thing you say

And I don’t want to hear what you said circling in my mind

In that empty room in the dark as the lights go out across the city

I’m too scared to tell you that

I wanted to paint you in a memory that I can’t even place

on fingertip, on in-between, on this nonstop reel of

flashing scenes, of poetry, of faded light

She said “I paint flowers so they will not die,”

And I wanted to take this record and make it spin forever.

If I could bottle up your brilliant heart and give it to the


watch it rise every morning

as I lift my head from the pillow

Maybe I’d remember

this is why we love.

Cooking For One

I read a story written by someone about her husband’s struggle with cancer. Her story touched me so much I decided to write a poem inspired by her experience. Here it is.

Cooking For One

There is nothing worse than staring at your empty plate

one sad egg staring back at you

you used to joke with me about what would happen if you died.

laughing, I’d tell you stories about how I would survive on a diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

I take my fork and push the egg to the right side of my plate.

How I would love to make a pork roast, home-made yorkshire pudding and some scalloped potatoes with rosemary and thyme

you’d come home and tell me about your day.

That smile used to crease your face like sunshine.