Sunday morning sermon
all the familiar faces
smile back

thighs stronger than
concrete;
          but why do I feel so weak?

marshmallow all over
I wipe the sticky mess
on his coat

ball of fur
sits where he pleases
right on the keyboard

dark theatre
a red-shirted man
asks the time

young woman
cowering in her car
torn dress

my team
takes the lead
trivia night

autism
can't handle change
even my visit home

fall break
food
need to hit the gym

a visit home
finding
my cat not moving

sent to jail
waiting for
a lucky roll

brownies
on the counter
flecked with white

reaction mechanisms
of organic molecules
no

finally home
everything seems different
. . . my memory

my fingertips itch
for his text
four. long. hours.

Mom threatens
to give away
the poor turtle

what is a rosary to a demon,
smug: against a tree

deserted campus
seeking company
I feed the ducks

reunion:
Parents Are Divorcing shake 
side of fries, too. 

photographs
some time with
Dad

darkened kitchen 
he fetched a beverage 
"I don't hate you, you know."

free time for free thoughts:
we were young 
we. were. hopeless.

driving home
tunnels of trees
race with the road

bald head
rubbed for good luck
he smiles at my joke

my younger brother
destroyed—
check mate!

a cheesy promo video
soap opera style
shame on you

sitting by bags
holding my breath
I check my bank

spent cigarette tossed 
in the clouded air 
my own shooting star

dad works overtime
daughter home at last
no proper reunion

popcorn
and lemonade
mother-daughter movie night

a kiss for you
then a kiss for me
our little secret

orbs in my eyes
doorman watches
decades pas(sed)t

dia de los muertos
the extended family
gathers around graves

in for oil change out with new radiator—sigh

rediscovered lullabies when I was there to greet the rising sun

cheapest wine 
from the drugstore 
come as you are

expensive price tag
she slips on
the Gatsby dress

heavy eyes . . .
always so much to do
back at home

true accomplishment
cracking an egg
one-handed

(one) step
towards (two) friends
reunion of musketeers (three)

sunrise
we haven't
even slept yet

home at last
welcomed by
my childhood room

sculptor's gloves
halfway stuffed
in her back pocket

going home
reunited
with my guitar

we spoke of soulmates 
under a bridge— 
people have purpose 

bolting for the car
my breath in puffs
first frozen night

a hug goodbye
will this be
the last time?

who needs an alarm
my early bird brother
plays the trumpet

Chinese buffet
sweet and sour chicken
matches the waiter’s mood

watching ghosts 
give hugs to
strangers

organ music
off key voices ring
with joyful praise

nightlight interstate 
my head on your shoulder,
heat.

records in my room 
     and anytime you(I) feel the pain, 
hey, (J)ude, refrain. 

a hot pan
in my hands
welp

early morning mirror
I wash off
last night's war paint

too much medicine
to ever feel unbroken
[complete]

gibberish
floats down
from the parakeet cage

I feel like a celebrity
every time
I go home

a perfect match
he's the brain
she's the heart

fuzzy socks
and lots of pets
a perfect evening

skipping
track after track
searching for something

a flutter of leaves
my childhood heart
resonates well with myself

small bonfire
quiet conversation
welcomed into the family

Sunday night
strands of purple
turn into espresso

yesterday,
all my trouble seemed
to just be so far away

everybody talks 
sins of my youth 
moving in the dark 

reflection in the mirror
long legs
black skinny jeans

I stare at my phone
so many contacts
I am still alone