Morning Prayers

Just once, I’d like to sleep in late

I know it’s wrong but

I’d do it well -

Break into Notre Dame

skip the photos and tours and

wander the tombs

of saints and others

alone

Sing with the echoes and

sleep in the pews

The tolling bells might wake me up

But I’ll ignore them

Today

I shed my history

I bear like a cross

Today

I sleep with God

Cooking Lessons

You never were one for recipes

But at age 12, I

bursting into newfound pre-teenagehood

was hungry

and you

tiptoeing into late fatherhood

knew the ropes.

How to crack eggs of no particular number

with just one hand

The proper finesse required to

sprinkle powders

and mix oils

all without taking a measure

“I don’t have the patience,”

you said of the unopened recipe book

And for your disobedience, I am grateful 

Food never tasted quite as good 

when I followed the rules

From the Atheist on Alternate Wednesdays

God is a bill I can’t afford

But still, I admire those people that bow and

fall before stones 

with concave stomachs from holy hunger

I can’t pay my dues

so instead, I tuck faith in

between laundry and cleaning

and other chores that I’ll do before bed

It’s absurd, I know

I think that’s why I need it

How to Grieve

The first thing I notice

is his new white shirt

which isn’t strange, until I see

that tear, 7 inches of total despair

zigzagging from his collar crease

to his second-to last button

It’s weird to be here

at my best friend’s mother’s funeral

I can hardly see him

through the throngs of praying men
and women who must mean well

I am just another Mourner of Zion

willing the good words to 

finish my heavy lifting

and wander, in quorum, to him

I never liked the prayers of death 

but today my friend says them well

How easy is it to learn 

the right way to suffer

how easy it is to forget their genesis

Maybe I’m wrong

but if it were up to me

I’d take him home now and

let him sleep

we’d play Call of Duty

maybe

if he was in the mood

It isn’t up to me

so instead I thank God 

for the words and the books

that tell us how to heal

in some other language

that I don’t fully understand

I guess I don't really need to
Because I do understand videogames
And I'll be here when he's ready

The Manic Pixie Dream Girl

In modern film and literature, borrowed from early American folklore with British influences, Manic Pixie Dream Girl (MPDG) is as rare as a Carbuncle or Baldander. One requires multiple modifiers to be correctly classified as MPDG. That is, simply being a Pixie or a Manic Girl, while nice, is irrelevant if not in context of the other characteristics. 

MPDG looks like whatever you’re into at the time of introduction. She likes Indie Rock. She wears yellow sundresses. She eats a lot but is eternally fit. She smells like strawberries.

When the angel Gabriel was sent to earth to find a perfect specimen for his master, Avicius, he stumbled upon MPDG by a river and begged her to come with him. “I can’t,” she replied. “I need to be fixed first.” 

Perhaps her most alluring feature, MPDG isn’t perfect. She longs to be cured of something, whether it is feelings of inadequacy or her inability to actually love. MPDG is always looking for more.

A warning to those attempting to “fix” your MPDG. Don’t get too close. MPDG is always more beautiful at a distance.

Twitter Poetry

Daughter's First Date

First it was you
clubbing the open air with your fists

challenging the earth
of our tiny backyard lawn

to fight back like a man

Behind our screen door 

I saw you kick your limbs

in figure-eights and karate chops

crow like Peter Pan 

to no one in particular until

I dragged you, lovingly

back to me

1,895 dinners later

after karate lessons, piano recitals

broken ankles and hearts

your grip on our browning lawn 

gradually lessened to 

a playful squeeze and then

a tender caress until 

it was you

slamming the door as

you ran to his car

A sequined purse, rosy cheeks

slender limbs that hadn’t

punched in years

Through the screen I saw

your small hand in his 

as the car started with

a sputter and a hum

and you moved

slowly and certainly

away from me