Music Lovers *From my book Thoughts on Tonight*
a single moment
frozen in its own epiphany
new and unheard
we can’t help but
silence our selfish consciousness
give our full attention
forget how our own hearts beat
ears long rusted shut
address everything else as hush
this moment evokes reverence we can only attempt
in concert halls
eternal fragments inhale our breath
exist through us
exist exactly for that purpose
then let us go before we’re ready
before any of us realize what’s been played
and what can still be sung
Welcome to the spare room, where good little trinkets go to die.
They wait in their boxes. Cold and mouthless.
Keeping our secrets from us but only for a while.
This is where love letters are lost deliberately, where random
jigsaw pieces pop into existence, where the unwanted gift is tossed.
This is where Christian families resurrect Christmas trees year after year
like mocking messiahs. This is where father and son each keeps his stash of porn
unbeknownst of the other’s stash of course because that would be very awkward.
It would be even more awkward if they knew this is where mom hides her first-ever vibrator
in a sock, in a shoebox, a shoebox that at a glance would appear to only be filled
with old make-up and Oh my heavens, if the children ever found it…This is where
a birthday-suited young man franticly shoves his birthday-suited girlfriend
and shuts the door, for his family has come home sooner than expected.
This is where unpruned strings of personality are tied and tucked away.
This is where the office, the guest bed, music room, workout equipment,
extra TV, art studio, or personal library was going to go but I guess
we never quite got around to it.
This is the spare room—the wild card of every home
waiting to discover you.
Some people know the space like their favorite jacket.
Some people see the room twice in its entirety: once when they move in,
once when they move out, and sometimes not even then.
Or maybe your spare room doesn’t exist in any house.
Maybe it’s the plastic tub you keep in storage
the backpack on your shoulder
the bottom of your purse
the backseat of your car.
Or maybe it’s a child’s suitcase found in your parents’ basement
filled with old friends you thought you’d never see again.
Wherever it is: Welcome to the spare room.
It is waiting to discover you.
A Newer World
push off, the tide is ripe
lift feet from this pudding on the beach and travel with me
peaceful voyage cannot be guaranteed
as we brush the backs of blue whales and maelstroms
as we write about all types of exotic eyes that connect, cross paths, then fade
as we cut through a briny blue where they say both bird and boat have been
pinched into the horizon, never seen again
picture our wooden bowl riding sine waves on the sea
lift off with me