Wednesday, April 30, 2014

To Borrow

A "painting" of our new abode, using the Waterlogue app.  Isn't it pretty?

To Borrow

Houses are rentable, yes,
and cars are too, I hear,
although I’ve never rented one.
My own car is so run-down 
it's just sad.  What’s sadder
is I bought it that way,
with a seatbelt that goes across
my lap and a separate one
for my upper body.  I joke
I’m buckling up to blast off
into space where the house
I’m renting looks like the ones
you play Monopoly with,
only mine’s blue not red.
It’s also run-down, the house,
but in a beautiful kind of way—
the way a mother looks
in line at the supermarket
with a cartful of diapers
and Hamburger Helper,
one hand lovingly laced
around the fudgy fingers
of a messy child,
clutching clipped coupons
in the other hand as if one
might be Wonka’s golden
ticket promising to whisk
her away in The Great
Glass Elevator up to a place
where cars never break,
roofs never leak
and run-down isn’t even
a possibility.

Monday, April 28, 2014


I realize I never fully updated everyone in regards to the job situation. I was eventually offered the job at American Eagle, but unfortunately the exact job title and responsibilities changed from when I first interviewed to when I was offered it weeks later. Meanwhile, Zales was able to give me full-time hours again, so it turned out that sticking with Zales would be more lucrative. So I stayed.

In other news, our house is looking awesome as we get more settled. We've been here almost a month now and we absolutely love it. Brian and I are also in finals week for this semester at UVU, so we're only a few tests away from freedom! Oh, and I had two prose poems published in UVU's Touchstones, one of which won Honorable Mention. Pretty cool, huh? It's quasi-autobiographical, documenting a less-than-awesome chapter in our relationship... but it sure made for a great piece of writing.

Siân Griffiths, the judge who critiqued my piece, said, "I was so taken by the way this poem turned. If ever I made the mistake of thinking I might know where the poem was headed, I soon saw my error. Yet each surprise felt utterly earned. In other words, the poem didn't surprise for the sake of surprise, but rather it surprised because life is surprising..."

She's right.  My life surprises me all the time.


You weren’t with me the day I picked the green-blue, not-quite-paisley curtains which frame the not-so-great view of a dentist’s office. But he was. He whispered his advice on accent colors and pulled me away behind discounted duvets and we both know that I let him, his hands ticking over me in slow, circular motions. Framed, near the window, is a photo of a younger me pulling you back into an embrace, kissing your cheek. Other framed photos, mostly from New York City, where we were wed, frame the mirror—black-and-white images of trees, buildings and an abandoned bicycle.  “I’ll return the curtains,” I suggest, replacing the batteries in our clock.  “No need,” you say, with injured eyes, pulling me back to bed, back to you, all interlocking arms and legs, disturbing the duvet.  I cry as you kiss my neck and out the window I only see mountains and blue, limitless sky.  We both agree the view is better from the bed.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Poem for Jessie

April has brought a lot of really fun and awesome things into my life, but it has also brought some terrible ones. Well, one terrible one in particular, and that is the death of a good friend of ours, Jessie. We met Jessie about a year ago when our friend Emily started dating her. The two of them seemed perfect for each other, which I know is cliché to say, but it was the absolute truth in their case. They were both so happy, so in love, and when they asked us to be in their wedding this coming May, we were overjoyed. But then real life came in to remind us all that things aren't always so perfect. Things are often difficult. Things are often sad.

Jessie passed away to Gastric Cancer on April 3, 2014. I remember her laughter and her spontaneity the most. And boy, could that girl dance. Emily would text me almost every other weekend: "What are you boys doing? Let's go clubbing!" And we'd go out and Jessie was always the life of the party. I remember whenever "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus came on she would get especially excited. People always told Jessie that she reminded them of Miley. A far more beautiful Miley in my opinion. The song still makes me think of her every time I hear it.

This one's for you, Jessie.


The club lights
flutter their aroused,
anxious butterflies;
their sweaty, shining
palms leave stolen
kisses of every hue
on your dancing body,
blushing timidly
as they do, but only
for a moment.
Only on their turn.
For who could hope
to keep you?

You, an angelic
trickster, taking
silky drags from your
e-cig, running long,
slender fingers through
stylish, cropped hair,
blowing puffs
of hefty exuberance
into the air with every

The lights have found
new you to kiss… your musical
eyes, your glittery teeth.
You smile and sing along,
moving your body to the beat.
We can’t stop
and we won’t stop.
Constantly in motion,
moving and grooving
—a solar system
in tight, ripped jeans
and boots.  Feathers
dangle from your earlobes.

You ignite the night
with the lighter that
is you.  Hot and bright.
The club’s lesser lights
enjoy the chase, reaching
for you always but only
catching smoke.


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