Two "Poems" in Search of Homes

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my mother’s workplace
was always a farther drive
than my father’s
she worked in kck
& he just off
of 107th and lackman
when jarrod & i
were both
in grade school
she would be gone
before we got up

we would awaken
to alarms
& the light
flipping on
the aroma
of coffee
taking over the house
like an avalanche

my father would be
in his room
the light on
& door open
radio on
& commercials
& the musings
of paul harvey
echoing throughout
my home
my father’s razor
tapping against
the sink
& swirling in
the water
the excess cream
& cut whiskers

in the kitchen
the radio on
as well
back before we had
a t.v. in there
or before we
were in the habit
of turning it on
cold cereal
or warm oatmeal
a banana
or an apple

jarrod & i
half awake
& so young
young enough
that we thought

the world
was actually
beautiful

now
i am alone
twenty-six years old
at my own apartment
in my own bed
it’s 5:30 a.m.
&
i’ve yet to
go to sleep

i just made
some warm oatmeal

no jarrod
no coffee aroma
no father
no tapping razor
no paul harvey

& i know
that the world
is not
beautiful
nor was it
back then

at least
back then
i still
thought it was



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scents & sounds
here within
these few
passing weeks
have been
stabbing me
with nostalgia

two years ago
black dog
my new
apartment
twenty people around
too many girls
around
fucking this one
kissing that one
missing her
& wanting the other

so many people
around me
& now
it’s just me

the irony being
that i was
lonelier
back then

- from 2007's violet dust & the detriment of broken homes