you are a room 

i will continue to visit 

door left unlatched 

i spend my mornings with you 

a slow cup of coffee 

pen 

paper 

scribbling down thoughts 

the window lets in light

the birds keep us company

yours is not a museum 

kept clean from my living 

yours is a place 

i go daily 

they tell me to lock the door

to throw away the key 

that visiting is too heavy 

but 

mi amor 

this is how i keep you with me 

5.14.25

an old lover recently told me that life is generous 

and as i sit here 

at the same table 

we sat at 

watching the same little birds 

jump around waiting for crumbs 

i giggle in agreement 

the memory of a version of life 

a version of us 

where we sat at this very spot

falling in love 

perching on my heart 

the way this sweet bird 

steps onto the steel round 

hoping for another crumb 

he is of course right 

life is so very tender 

and so very generous 

always giving more and more crumbs 

5.09.25

so this is how i love you 

when the waves of memory 

crash over me 

each one knocking the breath 

from my chest 

i let go 

i let it hurt 

to say 

i love you 

but mean goodbye 

at first i didn’t know where to put it

all the love 

i thought grief meant not knowing 

where to put it 

now i know 

it’s still here 

in every minute of every day 

a thousand moments 

when i have to say 

i love you 

but not reach out 

grief is loving quietly 

maybe the softest form 

maybe that’s why grief stays the longest 

it’s an act no different than love at the start

5.05.25

all morning 

i watch the mother 

fly back and forth 

collecting sticks 

leaves, twigs 

bringing them back 

to a nest 

she sits on 

to keep her eggs 

protected and warm 

you see 

i’m not really thinking about 

this sweet bird 

but my chest 

the love unable

to stop 

the cracking 

fracturing 

breaking 

humiliating 

deafening 

death 

of what’s beneath it

5.04.25

its not a particularly soft act 

the way the weaver 

pulls the threads a part

once woven together

yarn co creating beauty

now just fibers dangling 

from old wrinkled hands

it takes time to undo 

what was done

the hours, days, moments

unraveling 

disillusioned 

now undone. 

sometimes they talk about 

irreversible damage

the historians wont 

know what to say 

when traces of the other

contaminate each of our

individual strings

4.20.25

Its in the quiet corners of conversations 

that I seem to find you 

The you for which my poems have been written 

The you for which my heart has been given 

Its in the quiet corners of conversations 

Where the words have slowed

Maybe too many drinks 

Someone is saying what they think 

Its in the quiet corners of conversations 

Intimate, raw 

The way I love you 

Its not loud or wrong 

You see Its in the quiet corners of conversations 

That I miss you 

When I glance across the room 

Eyes connected, heart strings too 

This is where I love you 

10.22.24

it’s not yet mourning 

the birds have not begun to cry 

yet

slow wet drops 

echo through 

an open window 

in return 

 deafening silence 

 a sad cold 

attempt to satisfy 

hands on faces 

replaced with 

an ache 

deep 

outside of time 

i wonder what the birdies think 

when they hear us begin to cry

i pretend they sing me a song 

in hopes to feel more light 

i pretend they hold space 

in hopes i can sleep through the night 

but how can they hear me 

when they are not awake. 

the hurt lies stagnant 

beginning to rot 

what once was soft 

now rancid

grief sits in the tide 

waiting for the waves to roll in  

8.19.24

i sit down to write 

a little poem for you

to tell you 

how much i love you

an act that feels redundant

but,

if i was a tree

I would send you 

water through channels

underground

If i was a bee 

I would dance on your flower

Until my legs 

sticky with pollen

If i was a bear 

I would crawl with you

Into a cave to rest

If i was a monkey 

I would pick at you

To remove bugs

And dust from your fur

If i was a fish 

I would swim with you 

To new depths 

unknown

If i was a bird 

I would fly with you 

Anywhere 

Anywhere, on earth

Sometimes i wish i was a bird or a tree

But even then i would say…

If i was a human 

I would hold space for you

and wrap my body around you 

Laugh until i cry with you 

And cry until i laugh with you

If i was a human i would 

Write poems to you 

to tell you how much i love you 

Maybe a silly thing to do

But you must know 

in any universe 

I would love you

8.12.24

My style is. 

Messy. 

And i dont mean 

My mother didn't stress the importance of 

Being “Clean” 

I guess i mean 

I dont know how to not

Spill over

Bleed on you 

Show up 

Too raw

Whats that saying? 

Guts exposed? 

I will tell you i love you 

On a first date

Or laugh about 

The boy that hurt me 

In  the ninth grade 

I never learned how to not

Show up 

A little bruised 

Even though my mom certainly taught me to

My style is. 

Soft. 

And i dont mean 

My mother didnt stress the importance of 

Being “strong” 

What i am trying to say is

I dont know how to not 

cry.

Contort 

Wrap myself up 

Crumble like paper

Burn up like wood

Feel your pain 

As though its mine

Feel my pain

On my face

In this body

A living shrine

Too itchy

Sticky

Rough and raw

Too ouch

That hurt

Please stop

My style is

Not

Metaphorical mystic armor

Mentioned in self help 

Cheers to the cover girls demeanor 

In my closet

There is no “put together” lookbook 

9.25.24

it’s early

our corner of the world 

isn’t awake yet 

silence echoes through 

the tiny window 

shaking the old screen 

sleep has not found me 

or i have not found her? 

i try to search for meaning in this 

ask why my thoughts 

won’t bid adieu 

anxiety fills my chest 

there is something in the air tonight 

lungs 

catch 

on 

breath 

8.12.24

my uber said 

he’s trying to find himself 

discover who he is 

away from social norms 

such a human thing 

to share

but scary 

to admit 

even to ourselves 

that maybe we aren’t 

who we want to be 

i silently say thank you 

for sharing a piece of 

vulnerability 

reminding me 

how soft a stranger can be 

or maybe how soft i should be. 

8.10.24

Hi my name is- 

Stage four gastrointestinal stromal tumor 

Metastasized to the liver

Or no

I mean its abi 

Thats my name

Im sorry

The diagnosis is not mine either

But i keep repeating the words anyways

Plastered on surfaces 

Blurting out 

Odds

Like its air im breathing

The mitosis rate is the highest we have ever seen 

If i was a plant 

Cancer is the CO2 i would be consuming

When you ask how i am doing 

I say 

Immunotherapy increases the odds

Of what? 

nausea , vomiting, shortness of breath? 

Colitis, hepatitis, nephritis? 

Whatever the fuck-itis that means

But he might live longer. 

A few more months

If we are lucky another year 

You see my name is 

Stage four gastrointestinal stromal tumor 

Metastasized to the liver 

Or no 

I mean my name is abi

Im sorry

The diagnosis is not mine either

But the words have written themselves 

Inside of my being 

Thoughts are compounded with things not to eat

No sugar, no bread

But celery juice is good? 

Im so overwhelmed 

I dont know whats what

You see 

I dont have cancer

But cancer has me

Its wrapped up inside me 

Even if they cant see 

You see my name is 

Daddy, 

I dont want you to die

We havent had long enough 

And now the tears well up in my  eyes

8.26.24

i sit on the plane 

across the aisle 

from a sweet 

rolly polly 

babe 

he’s soft 

and round 

with brown hair 

and sweet eyes

i make

faces at him

play 

i wish

i was

a mother 

i feel a longing 

missing 

yearning 

for my babies 

the ones i haven’t held 

but somehow i know what they will feel like 

their feet 

little legs 

bodies pressed against mine 

you see my body knows them 

has known them 

for longer than 

you would think 

my loves 

the little ones 

i hold close 

the little ones 

that exist in my dreams 

know that i’m waiting 

hoping 

wishing 

preparing 

for the day 

when i can hold you 

your mother has prayed for you 

prayed over you 

you are the loves of my life 

6.24.24

the woman behind me 

mutters the same lines 

over and over 

the man a few rows up 

an old football helmet on his head 

someone young 

curled into a ball

hurting 

he got on slowly 

then there’s the young kids 

they skip down the aisle

rapping in the back 

giggling at their friends attempts 

to rhyme 

i think this is what they call human noise

each little person 

is a big person 

the world on their axis 

a series of stories written 

we only share a few minutes 

shake 

move through this  place 

until our 

stop is requested 

5.19.24

i sit still 

sand holds my weight 

i watch the birds dive 

down to catch fish 

and i think 

it’s a sort of violent tenderness 

is it not 

the way a child holds his mother 

or a wave crashes on sand 

the way the casket holds a body

or a bird catches a fish 

5.06.24

your name lays dormant inside my mouth 

ache rested deep in my bones 

does it ever end 

this longing 

5.01.25

the critic tells me to stop writing about love 

it’s over done 

can’t you write about anything else

no one wants to hear your cries in the dark 

your whispers of longing 

talk about something that matters

connect to the world 

but the dreamer tells me to keep going 

that love is the only thing that “matters”

4.15.24

it’s not quite morning 

light has not reached through my window 

the walls of my room are still dark 

not yet touched by warmth 

sounds of song from one bird reach me 

her lonely cries ring loud in the dark 

i wonder who she is calling 

i wonder who she is mourning 

is it her turn to wake up the sun 

to call the others

to say night is nearly over 

wake up wake up 

it’s the job of one who is hurting 

to notice when night is almost done 

i reach out to hold her 

to tell her she is loved

4.15.24

i wake dreaming 

you,  next to me 

eyes not yet open 

mumbling wants to stay 

holding 

i trace my fingers 

along warm skin 

humming sweet nothings

birds chirping 

light dances across my stomach 

and i wish it was you 

whispering goodmorning 

4.13.24

i desire to live with a love ethic 

to be enduringly soft 

to burn bright in my longing 

to hold the heaviness 

to exist in light 

i desire to sit still 

to relieve some suffering 

even if only with a 

how are you 

3.17.24

you broke my heart. 

in a way that felt familiar 

old wounds oozing 

someone please help me

i can’t stop the bleeding. 

01.29.24

hungry, eager 

lips tongue 

slow down

introduce me to this collarbone 

nice to meet you neck 

give me more time with this shoulder 

let me lick the salt 

from your mouth 

i want to taste you 

1.10.24

i awake before time 

the city is still 

bodies at rest 

a faint rumbling of waves 

vibrates through the sill 

i beg for them to get louder. 

to swallow me whole 

my head is too loud

filed with chatter 

the drum of deception 

drowning out the rhythm of water 

how could you let them 

it’s ok to be shattered. 

01.08.24

i wake dreaming 

white flakes 

falling

delicate. 

landing 

caressing my cheeks 

floating on lashes 

cold, wet 

stories 

drip down my face 

they whisper. 

you and i 

we’re made of the same thing.

12.29.23

n the end we’re  just stories 

a series of letters written 

and re written 

time made manifest through action

an accumulation of molecules 

connecting and disconnecting 

a palimpsest of narrative 

layers of tactile but brief bodies 

i touch you 

and the author reaches for a pen

she wants

11.23.23

i write to you 

and the ache hurts a little less

or maybe i feel strong enough to keep going 

when my pen touches paper 

when words come out of my soul 

it’s like i can move forward

closer to starting again 

i still love you 

but i’m getting better at doing it from far away 

11.3.23

everyone wants you to change 

just an early december 

we’ve begun telling you what you look like 

who you are 

like being the month before 

the month of cool nights 

with a touch of warmth isn’t enough 

defined by what comes after you 

instead of you today 

i will love you as you are. 

a month of harvest 

a month of warmth 

you gently bring us to cold 

slowly acclimating our bones 

lets celebrate falling in love with winter 

lets celebrate you, november 

11.02.23

friends who call 

answer

say i’m picking you up 

meet me at time 

i’ll see you in five 

messages 

how are you 

listening 

sharing 

laughing 

existing in this space 

carved by love 

by a communion of bodies 

who find solace 

close to one another 

i’m existentially warm 

in your presence 

by the sacred love you give me 

the word “friend” seems too brutal

too mundane 

to describe it. 

9.20.23

there’s a buzzing 

probably not- 

it is

suddenly i am 

existentially warm 

whispering springtime 

melodies of sunshine 

bodies briefly holding 

my eyes on your eyes 

9.14.24

my heart is heavy 

i choke back muffled tears

in the backseat of the uber 

“yes miami international” 

Giovanni that’s his name

the man who said good morning 

sitting here with me 

i whisper i’m sorry 

as if my hurt might rub off on him 

9.6.23

nauseous. 

muscles begin to tremble

bones start to ache 

i don’t have any more pretty words

this isn’t a poem it’s 

a cry 

a prayer 

a scream

of vulgar humanity

of devastation 

of desperate pain 

9.4.23

but just like that 

scissors to string 

i let go 

the last thread 

i’ve been holding 

clutching 

close to my chest

it’s time 

so in the same way 

i breathed you in 

slowly, consumed with love

i breathe you out. 

8.30.23

i’m awoken by the beginning light 

the one that glows 

before sunrise 

or early onset 

groggy 

i rub my eyes 

peeling myself from warm covers 

shuffling around a dark kitchen 

for a glass of water 

feeling a cutting board 

knife 

lemon 

    is good first thing 

right? 

my feet paddle me outside 

where i’m embraced 

now the symptoms of the sun are unmistakable 

clouds painted in yellow light 

corners of buildings defined 

noises of the city start to make their way to my ears 

but before this it seemed quiet

as though the world wasn’t awake yet 

now the noise is louder than the light 

moving faster 

and seemingly all at once 

it’s day 

8.21.23

it’s the way the wind kisses me 

and the salty water tickles my toes 

sand crunching beneath my feet 

bringing me back home 

here to earth 

when my brain soars too high 

it’s the way the birds sing songs 

and the trees whisper lullabies 

bees humming in tune to the melody 

reminding me 

how soft love is 

loud, yes 

but gentle 

maybe we should love people 

the way wind loves leaves on trees

8.13.23

Long brown curls, ringlets 

Big soft eyes, blue

I whisper to her, “what do you want” 

She gasps. 

“No one asks me that” with a dimpled 

Pudgy, 4 year old smile. 

Maybe someone should. 

8.07.23