The Astronaut’s Messy Room
There was a boy who wanted to be an astronaut, but his room was too messy. He threw away all of his toys, his stuffed animals, and even his books…until finally, when he had made enough space, he flew into it.
For You, Katelyn Harper
We could be giants, big-hearted abdominals breathing air between stars, sipping the Milky Way. Cirrus clouds tickling your neck, and rain, drizzling down your frame. And the mountains, the Appalachian, the Rockies would be muffled by our souls draping, across the landscape. Yet, We were moths, fluttering around your playhouse, with Christmas lights, wrapped around wooden posts, illuminating our...
For You, Samuel Taylor
I forget about you. Your name, falling from my frontal lobe, the slope of my hippocampus, lost to the tip of my tongue And I remember you: Your pacing; counterclockwise circles, clearing your throat, and the squeak that hiccups at the end of your laugh. It makes forgetting you sting, like tiny hands wringing the bones, stretching along my sides, from sternum to vertebrae. So when my body aches, I...
Kerouac once wrote about the mad ones; those who were mad to live, mad to talk, and mad to be saved. Poppy Harper was one of the mad ones, but if she was mad to live; certainly, I was mad to be saved—by her, the summer sun, and a promise of Colorado. Tiny paper hats swam across the dashboard, the air pulling a few through the passenger window. Poppy followed one out with her eyes, but her hands...