210/365

two all nighters
learning about brave spaces
diversity, equity and inclusion
have left me disoriented
and cotton headed.

spent time with friends
on their deck
eating cheese and cake,
drinking wine
and complaining about
the pandemic and
feeling hopeful about
the future.

these days
aren’t miraculous,
fun or even memorable,
but we share cooking tips
and how we spend our hours.
they are the lives
we’re forced to live and that’s
all we can really do.

202/365

appreciation begets abundance
aren’t the days meant to be more.

eutrophic-
rich in nutrients
and so supporting a dense—
imagination.

each day bleeding into the next
this virus holding us hostage.
decomposition depriving us of
the sacred and the mundane:
building a different reflection,
bronzing skin,
waiting for break throughs,
nothing changes without follow-through.

stop feeling sorry for yourself:
floating in a pool
bathed in scorching light.
create a culture of gratitude
instead of just reading about it.
no highlighted passages in a book
will raise your kids. instill in them
the values you can’t seem to muster.

the pond is murky.
the algae ready to devour the oxygen,
but the gravel floor is just beneath your toes,
rake in hand, working
toward clear crystal water.

balance is not
a passive resting place.
it takes work.

201/365

two.
five.
eight.
two people.
five people.
eight people.
two.
five.
eight.

masks on.
check in.  
trace together
get in a bubble.
stay home.
summer over.

freedom.
two steps back.
freedom.
five steps back.
freedom.
eight steps back.

stay home.
summer over.

172/365

celebration- | sɛlɪˈbreɪʃ(ə)n |
[mass noun] the action of celebrating
an important day or event:
the birth of his son was a cause
for celebration.

[count noun]
a social gathering or enjoyable activity
held to celebrate something:
a birthday celebration.

last day of school.
wedding anniversary.
father’s day.
birthday.

pandemic.
lock down.
restaurants closed.
restaurants open
but with only
two people.

he made the best of it.
empty restaurants.
no music.
things could be worse.
grateful to be loved:
co-workers,
friends,
family.

wu tang
on the way there.
full moon,
cocktails,
bright eyes
on the way
home.

forty seven
fits strange.

how do
we become
the men
we are?

things about things

a few weeks ago,
before the world broke,
i came across a young boy
crying because he had just killed a bird.

“i didn’t mean to,”
he whimpered earnestly.

but the bird was dead:
bloodied beak
snapped neck
crushed wing.

it’s tiny legs
limp and smashed
into the concrete
like damp matchsticks.

his friends circled
the scene
like giddy vultures
confused by blood
and remorse
and endings
they were never equipped
to process.

“it’ll be okay.
it was an accident.
there’s nothing you
could have done.
go play.
don't worry about it.”

i took care of the corpse
and watched the children
return to play and not worry about it.

that was a few weeks ago
before the world broke,
at a school
where we naively tried to teach kids
things about things.