Thursday, February 26, 2009


She's a friend, but not someone you feel passionate about, just someone you pass the time of day or kill time with, whatever, then one day without you realizing it, something changes and you can't wait to see her, and you buy her stupid little gifts like key chains from gum ball machines or bottles of hazel nut iced coffee because she likes it, or pins with funny sayings, you know, just to let her know you think of her sometimes, but nothing too dangerous or telling, but she notices, and suddenly she doesn't answer her phone when you call, and she doesn't ask if you want to get a beer after work, or go shopping with her on Saturday, and she begins to hang out with this guy she works with, no one special or anything, kind of a jerk you think, and it seems like every time you talk to her now she's telling you how the jerk told her this really funny joke, and it turns out to be something you used to tell people when you were in junior high, and it was funny back then, but you were in junior high and you think to yourself, what a jerk, and little by little you stop calling her because all she ever talks about now is this jerk, and you begin to realize how annoying she is and how predictable she's become and you realize how lucky you are that you decided never to tell her how you were beginning to feel.


Conceived by a father who was a dream, and a mother who was form, Story was alas, not to be; stillborn because Story’s mother was too cold to get out of bed where other lovers beckoned from beneath the sheets and behind the curtain, Story would never realize her dreams of Tibetan mountaintops or shy engineer suitors, nor would she parade herself garishly and proudly across snow white pages for all to admire. 

Story will be missed.  

Monday, February 23, 2009


You stand behind her as she sits at her desk, and in the overhead light, you see as if for the first time, her head, once all brown, now a halo of white, and you don’t feel revulsion that she’s gotten old, nor do you feel sadness at sensing yourself suddenly at the tipped end of the see-saw; you feel gratitude, that someone like she has shared this time, bestowed upon you this history, and those strands of white hair, (more than any ring) will tie you to her forever.

Friday, February 13, 2009


It’s the sweetest part of the night:

you squint through crusted eyes

at the red LED on the cable box

as you return from the bathroom;

it's 3:11.

Quietly, you slip back into bed, so you don't wake her,

but as you settle

with your back to her,

she turns and presses her warm naked body into you

and you smile,

thankful for four more hours.