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Emma

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

5 poems·Since September 2014
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Ago

September 18, 2014

Losing your

mind

a lot like

vanishing.

There is no up.

 

My father’s birthday

Yesterday.

I called,

there should be --

More.

 

Old Spice cloud

--like Pop-Pop --

blue wintergreen gum

black and mild-mild

smokes.

 

Slipping

a little

slowly.

Dates

time

go quicker.

All one bundle.

Incomprehensible

Tomorrow.

 

Halloween.

Dad indulges

Mom and I --

A latex old man mask.

He wasn’t a fan.

 

A month

Year

Two

Slowly,

no up.

 

Ago.

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