playing with mediums

Sometimes I write poetry. I don't consider myself a poet, but I think sometimes you have an experience that necessitates a medium like that. It can be shorter and you can play with rhythm and form.

Here's one I wrote about Iceland, and trying to make myself love someone who I couldn't ultimately, let in. The two things feel very related because in Iceland I was so jet-lagged and caffeinated that I couldn't really live the experience. With this person, nothing could realize itself because neither one of us was committed to letting it happen.

Setting

I remember

Smooth Icelandic coffee

How it tasted a little over-ripe

Over-cooked

Too much like coffee.

Volcanic earth

And

Angry British tourists

A language that

Klinked

Like crystal

My father

happy and alive

While I

Was scared of ghosts

I am always scared of ghosts.

I remember

You

How I wanted to love you

But couldn’t.

There was a gash

Inside me

Thoughts of you came in one side

And left just as quickly

There are things

That never come to pass

But sometimes they matter

As those that do.