It struck me,
When my phone asked, no, demanded—
To back it up,
How machines claim their needs...
Sometimes, more often, than not,
better than we do!

the grass,
ghostly white,
snaps as I tred upon
it and the remnants, aghast,
yesterday's memories
lay frozen in time 'neath
my feet that live steadfastly.

If friendship was a flower
Pretty and full of colours
I'd be colorblind
For a while I'd lose sight

If friendship was a song
Pitched with highs and lows
I'd only hear the lows
Filled with sorrow and flaws

If friendship - i could touch
Tender warm and soft
I'd never want to brush
There's a fear that keeps me locked

If friendship was a smell
Floral and fresh
My breath - I'd hold
Cuz I'd rather choke

It's the worst of all loves
Strongest of all bonds
Paints a black stain
Leaving eternal pain

Truth bends to the eye that sees it.
Some truths stand fixed like stars in the sky,
But many shimmer like reflections in water-
Shifting with the angle ,
dancing with the light

You were told —
You're rookies.
Interns.
Bottom of the food chain.
Nothing you do matters
Mainly by nobody's
Not your nights, not your notes,
Not the weight in your chest
When a patient won’t wake.
You all think you’ll change the world,
They laughed.
Fast forward—
Reality checked in cold scrubs.
Now you own everything.
If it’s broken,
It’s on you.
If it heals,
You get no name.
No thanks.
What’s wrong?
You.
What’s right?
You feel good, maybe.
But don't get cocky.
You keep tabs.
You pass info—
Forward, backward,
Up the chain,
Down the drain.
And maybe—
just maybe—
you won’t make a **** difference.
No statues,
No speeches.
No glory.
But if you do nothing...
If you bow out—
It might tinge your soul.
Not with fire.
But with a quiet,
Lasting rot.
So suit up.
You’re still a rookie.
But you showed up.
And that
still
means
something.

Simultaneously,
a drop of
time fell
on a
barren land.
goes on… goes on…
created a
pond.
goes on… goes on…
created a
lake.
goes on… goes on…
created
half a sea.
goes on… goes on…
created
an ocean.
goes on… goes on…
created a
planet.
goes on… goes on…
created a
galaxy.
goes on… goes on…
created
millions of galaxies.
goes on… goes on…
created a
universe.
goes on… goes on…
created uncountable
universes…
goes on… goes on…
And still,
it goes on…

He was a puppy,
Blue eyes, stubby tail, floppy ears.
We walked every day
                Sometimes twice or three times
And he loved every one.
Chasing squirrels, watching birds,
Looking back toward me
Showing love the way only a dog can.

He got bigger, our times together did too.
Then my little girl was born into this life
          And suddenly I didn’t have time.
No time for walks
No time for lounging
No time for ear scratches watching rain
No time no time no time!

I wish I had taken the time.

Yesterday he crossed the rainbow bridge.
Seven years is entirely too few.
It felt like this could never happen
Like he’d be there no matter what
But I wasn’t there for him.
I had to say goodbye through a grainy
Video.
And now he’s gone.

I wish I had taken the time.

How many times I walked past him?
How many times I didn’t reach out?
How many times I kept on going about
My day?
But what about his day?
Wasn’t I his whole day?
Wasn’t I his morning, noon, and night?
Wasn’t my attention all he wanted?

I wish I had taken the time.

And now…
God ****** now… HOW?!
How do I explain to a 3 year old
That Duke isn’t coming home today?
That Duke’s bed will always be empty?
That Duke’s fish won’t need food in it?
That Duke’s leash will gather dust?
That we’ll never hear his ears shaking
Or his feet tapping
Or his “ahh-rooo” howling?
That he’s gone

I wish I had taken the time.

Why didn’t I just take the ******* time?

I.
Box fans and mowers drone below,
distant traffic murmurs through summer’s heat.
Memory presses: teeth and old thunder.
Regret. Punishment. Hope. Repeat.

My ears ring with histories,
sometimes cicadas, sometimes sermons,
sometimes her humming, barefoot by the creek,
sometimes the sting of my father’s belt.

Sunlight slants through bloated magnolia leaves,
thick as tongues,
slick with old rain.
It stains the walls with a color like yolk,
like aging joy.

II.
I wake in moonlight,
before the rumble.
Step barefoot onto concrete
still warm from the last sun.

The sky is full of stubborn stars,
hung from the last funeral.
I watch. I wait.
No birds yet. No breeze.
I stay.

I tell myself this is peace.
But the silence knows better.