brew (v).


Don't you see? Your words
are like honey, 
sweetening my tea and
soothing my sore voice, they
coat my neck as I
take them in. 

Don't you see? Your words
are like honey, 
how honey sticks and stays
stuck to the spoon, 
lingering down the side
of the cup that runs over,
cemented like drying glue
in a ring on the table. 

Don't you see? Your words
are like honey, a heavy
varnish of goo that does
not clean easily, it lingers
on my cheeks, my hair
it rests where it lands
even after I rinse
my hands and face and you
leave the room.  

Don't you see? Your words
are like honey, they can
sweeten or spoil
my drink. 

Posted on September 5, 2017 and filed under the word project-.

gale (n).


I wonder what is left
of our love, and where
it went - I imagine
our love on our sea
that leaves from the
coast we came from
and weathers like
a hull in a hurricane,
lost in sight but
holding breath in hope. 
I imagine our love
some sweet wind
through weathered windows
and into whispers of friends and lovers.

I imagine our love reincarnate
to two more gentle and deserving, 
because I think our love
could use some rest after
weathering our storm. 

certain (adj).

It came as a surprise
to me and those who know me
the shift in air and heart
when you came spiraling in.

I think myself joyful enough
I think myself a man who
has goodness enough, and
was building a house
that stood, I was building
a life that allowed sleep
to come easily.

Imagine the disruption
not unlike spring’s heavy rain
that, unannounced, soaks through
a quiet afternoon and sprouts
the garden to grow its tallest tall -
I found myself a man shooting through
the earth when you arrived.

You are made of wonder
you are made of life’s favorite colors
you are made of more questions than
I knew anyone could ask and
I will spend my life gladly
finding answers with you.

I am sure in the same way
the sun is sure of its place and
the mountain is sure of its stature,
in the same way that the sparrow
leaps off branches without fear
in the same way the ocean
returns to kiss the shore each evening,
the same as these ways I am sure
of my place beside you.

I am sure in all of the triumphs and
all of the things we will lose,
in all of the disappointments and
mysteries that may never be solved,
in all of the stories we will live and then
tell to our friends over dinner,
in all of the things that will grow us
and will alter us from before,
I will end each day grateful
and with such relief
that you are here with me
and still marvel at what goodness
has stumbled on me that
I am here with you.

soft (adj).

There is a moment after it rains
where the sky settles into itself
like the sigh when the sprinter
starts to catch his breath after a run
like the stillness between night and
morning, like the hush when
you finally reach the water
after weaving through brush and hill. 

This is how our love feels: nestled
in between sighs and sounds
in the softness of the day ending and beginning
in the delicacy of the light and heavy things
in the gentleness of your hand
when it reaches for my hand. 

Posted on July 26, 2017 and filed under the word project-.

bestow (v).

please take                           
care of my love;                  
I have sent it      
over fully, with        
its itchy corners and    
dark spots exposed,    
my greatest stories   
and the softest       
secrets that still
make me gasp,                  
I even sent
the dreams that
I now see include
you beside me. 

I have placed
my love into your
hands and
I watch you run
your thumb over
its grainy edge, the way
you run your thumb
over my nose
as I am already
halfway to sleep. 

fluke (n).

if everything on this big rock
has collided at random to make
all that has been made,
if who is born, the when and the where
is up to chance, 
if it was unplanned where cities
would gather and when
oceans rise and mountains
crumble, or stand,
if it is accidental that we would
end up here at this time -  
then it is truly magic
even that we are here,
feeling the same loss and
dreaming the same dreams,
what a phenomenon that we
would find ourselves
carrying the same difficult things and
also laughing as we do, 
what a wonder it is that
we have survived thus far, and
may survive yet. 

If everything is chaos, 
then everything is a miracle. 

imposter (n).

The Ache is an ever-present stranger - 
turning the lights off while
trying to make out the words,
closing the windows tight from
letting the breeze soften the air,
tipping the boat when
we are trying to cross to the
rocky side of the lake,
grasping at ankles while
sprinting through morning mist,
covering ears when
laughter is found leaving my lips,
singing the words wrong
to the lighthearted chorus,
saving a seat at the table
at this Saturday’s dinner.

I want to be clothed in
only the arms of my lover
and the words of the saints
and the strength of my friends
and the belief in better days. 

I do not want to be clothed in
this heavy fog that
fills my lungs with
oil and thunder.  

proprietor (n).

it is a serious thing
to carry a body through this world
to keep a heart beating
to shield it from the elements
and the dangers of man
to tend to open wounds and
achy joints and muscles
to keep it strong and nourished.

it is not too much to call it a miracle
that these lungs keep filling up with air
and pushing out what is no longer needed,
a pulse that, if nothing else, is a reminder
that time is passing
and life is still arriving to me.

it is too much a tragedy that
I have spent much of my life at war
with my body’s softness,
I have grimaced at features
masked myself in makeup and clothing
I have worked hard to try and take up
less space.

it is a very radical thing
to be at home in ourselves
and I have spent much of my life
pushing myself away
pressing myself onward, too far out,
plummeting myself into too much striving
preparing myself to be presentable
puncturing myself with words that stain.

it is a serious thing
to carry a body through this world
and there is too much work to be done
there is too much beauty to fight for
to continue this daily renouncing
of the grams that make me up
and carry me through softly surviving.

dromenland (n).

the first word you taught me was distance
because that is how we measure the world
because that is how we place each other
because that is where you exist from me. 

Next to your distance I wanted to know
the word for proximity - NABIJHEID, you told - 
because for how far you are, I want to know how close
you could get. 

Wednesday's lesson was this:
all words for 'you' (the loveliest pronoun)
and MEISJE is the word for girl
and this word I recognized because
 I am more MEISJE than VROUW. 

"what did you learn today?" you asked
when your day started and mine was ending. 
yes, so much to learn. And so soon, 
and look, the day was over. 

I woke up and you were gone
as if a dream, as if kindreds -
VERWANTEN - only comes
in sleep and slumber
as if the blossoms of Amsterdam
had spilled off the trees
and live only in the world
where there is no distance, just
the proximity of you next to me. 

salaam (n).

what can I do with all
of this heaviness and how
do I greet it except to
brush its hair, offer
what food is left, tell
it not to worry, it's not
keeping me up (even though
it is keeping me up), I will
stay awake and listen as long
as it takes to say it. 

I will put on the kettle and
wrap it in the blanket
I wrap around myself on
the days that I am not sure
even of the color of the sky. 

role (n).

I as a woman am
a life force. 
I as a woman am
capable of
spilling open and
speaking the truth.
As a woman I can
fight wild heart battles and
still find ways in which
the day was good. 
As a woman I know
when it is not
healthy touch or
safe touch and when
a man has taken liberties
as a man.
I as a woman am
an offering of faith
that my voice will
be listened to and

I as a woman I am told
I should hold it all in. 

brittle (adj).

hope is made of sand, the way
it slips through my fingers and also
sticks to the folds in my ears, it falls
from my hair for days after, it stays
dust on the floor, the grit, I feel it
on the bottoms of each foot, even
when you think it could no longer
still be here, it is. 

hope is made from glass, the way
it shatters just so, into a million
and more pieces, the way
something so beautiful can draw
stinging blood, the way it
cuts deep into the skin when you
didn't see its edge. hope is made of
glass the way it glistens
and hums when you run your finger
just so, and patiently, on its lip. 

hope is made of all of the delicate and
difficult things, like secrets and giving,
it is made of a baby's helplessness and
evening whispers between lovers, it is
made of the kind of light that
helps you make out an outline
and doubt your line of sight, it is
made of all of the things that
you can only offer up to the gods, 
hope is
all of the things that
are unbearable to think
of losing, and that's why
we can't give it up, this hope.  

altar (n).

I bring you my day's last thoughts
I bring you what was said and how I felt
I bring you all of the strangers I observed
I bring you each moment you would find
charming, or maddening, both I bring to you.

I bring you my day's last wonderings, like
what could happen next and where
we could go and why the world is
like it is and maybe also what
next I should attempt to cook. 

I bring you in the evening my body
I bring myself close to you, I bring you
my doubts and judgments of my soft build
I bring these with a gentle offering
to make safe the altar for you to also
bring your self, safely, to me. 

trench (n).

I promise if you
open your eyes and
turn to face the world
beauty will meet you, even
yes, in all of the pain, even
in all of the disappointment, even
in all of the people and their stories, even
in all of the ways it feels like tomorrow
could be the day the world ends, even

I promise if you
open your eyes and
turn to face the world
I will slip my hand in yours
I will walk you slowly down
to the water where we all join
to greet the nightfall. 

offering (n).

To my mother, who always knows
the heavy days from the light ones
when to call, how to comfort -

to my mother, who always sees
humour as I do, and the best in all, 
what is important, what is true -

to my mother, who always feels
deeply into the river that runs through
her warrior heart, full of hope:

you are to me what makes the world
make sense.
You are to me all at once the force
that settles and sends me. 
You are to me all of the beautiful
and strong things.