love people. take pictures. write things down.

photos and words by Caroline

Category: poems.

resolutions

Stop being jealous of the beautiful girls

who have beautiful nails that don’t chip paint

with words and practice silence

the voices that tell me I can know anything about the end

the laziness and sign up for a race

into the arms of those whom I love before they turn to smoke

less—only on Mondays when I am across from the bus station

God in all areas of my life that I may find a place

my clothes and books where they belong and develop some taste

food and smell air and touch everyone

somehow.

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newtown

I read that his mother said, “Adam,

it is not good to for you to be alone.”

And I wonder–did he respond with a semi-automatic

argument? Or was there silence, like the song

Paul Simon played at the funeral

of a 27-year-old hero who still slept with a teddy bear?

.

Either way, we weren’t listening.

inverness.

I couldn’t write it then–

(but I can now–why is that?)

–couldn’t see then that your room had only three walls and I couldn’t

hear the creaking

floorboards (hiding something?) and I fell for

the slant of the headlights passing

all night through the basement

window over two sleeping humans who had walked

through a greener country

with vinyl over our heads

(don’t worry, it was kind of beautiful)

although

frost covered us overnight

and someone was always watching.

arts & leisure

home is where the time is

in lepoard-print journals and crushed shoeboxes

photographs with orange spots (water damage from the flood)

I smooth the creases and my father says, “I don’t remember that.”

or, “were we on vacation?”

.

home is where the Times is.

pieces of yesterday, scattered sections of weeks ago–

a slice of October still sits in the living room.

seasoned with eraser crumbs (crossword abandoned.)

.

I read the Sunday Styles

in my church clothes (jeans are O.K.)

and later with my mother under the Costco blanket.

.

We forget the wine in the freezer

Accidentally preserving something that improves with age.

descend/knock

when entering woods

(another October is over—)

a woodpecker knocks back, hello

“If only I could give you

the moments I have alone.”

 

maybe, here–

we could get married?

go home, watch movies (in the same bed.)

 

and name our daughters after trees.

 

I am happy here, you know,

with my New Collected Friends.

I’ve taken all of their photographs

(holding their dogs and their dreams)

 

but do you want to come over?

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