First Memory


This is a space to share my poems and dreams.  Eventually, I’d like to compile these thoughts into a little prayer-book of sorts.  Let me know your thoughts!

This poem is about one of my first memories: the violence of being (accidentally) stabbed and the incongruous societal expectation that you must tough it out, you have to “kiss-and make-up”, and then you move forward.  Anybody with siblings knows how fast this turnaround between war and peace is expected, and sometimes it is frankly bullshit.



i once held joy

but you culled it.
because you could.
because love is
capricious and eternal
you sliced so deftly,
cutting the hand
instinctively raised
to protect myself.
the horror of your mouth
let me know how it was.
i froze in the retreat
of your convict
i didn’t scream
until they held me down
dug lead out,
and scolded me
for dying.
you didn’t cry
until they tracked you down,
drew you out,
and punished you
for lying.
where do we learn
to rehearse these battles,
to deny pain a stage,
to playact forgiveness?
feign trust
but wait
for the knife
you voiced regret
but i nulled it.
because i could.
because love is
vindictive and ceaseless


Permanence in poetry as in love is perceived instantly.  It has not to await the test of time.  The proof of a poem is not that we have never forgotten it, but that we knew at sight that we could never forget it. — Robert Frost


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