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Frivolous Quill

  • Probable Cause

    April 8th, 2019

    They were hoodled
    against
    the frost and crossed
    against
    the light
    across
    the path of the officers
    who—
    jackets unzipped
    —pulled to the side,
    searched pockets
    and coats for
    evidence
    they weren’t white
    enough to saunter
    through the cold.

  • Sustainable

    April 7th, 2019

    When our office switched from recyclable
    cups to sustainable mugs my boss

    said she never pours tea into coffee
    mugs because coffee was a thoughtless

    guest who never, really, leaves, like
    there’s always one sock left under

    the couch to be found six months later.
    I shrugged because I’d never found so

    much as a quarter beneath the cushions.

    Jesus, too, warned against pouring new
    wine into old wine skins lest they burst

    and stain the carpet but my coffee
    mug has never

    yet

    cracked.

  • An Ounce of Pretension

    July 1st, 2018

    There are few opening lines more pretentious than
    ‘I have a hot tub’—maybe ‘I don’t own a TV’ or

    ‘I read The Economist’—but it’s true and anyway
    it’s for my wife’s fibromyalgia and it was on sale

    and there’s no other way to explain the leaves that
    become trapped and float unnoticed to the surface

    sink beneath the jets lost in the flotsom to wind
    between our toes and lay at the bottom of this

    chemical bath dying as we relax color fading like
    an astronaut without oxygen who can’t keep her

    eyes open as the warnings flash 15 10 5 3 percent
    red through her eyelids but she’s long since succumbed

    to an isolated slumber and slipped down to death to
    wind between God’s toes, a leaf in the filter but

    he still knows her name.

  • Three Counts

    May 23rd, 2018

    I cannot draw
    but I did
    my best to gild
    the functional canvas of
    his
    field-trip lunch sacks
    with apple trees and
    iron gates and
    atoms and books.

    (It was the only way
    I could be
    there and anyway
    PB&J
    is boring enough.)

    The truth wasn’t,
    though.
    Needed neither apples nor atoms
    to make it
    any more
    there
    but we can’t help
    ourselves with
    such scintillating sin.

    (We save our
    sharpest
    crayons for the
    cleanest
    lines of our
    deepest
    fears.)

    Still
    I wanted to draw
    that Sunday,
    as someone stood
    in your stead,
    the way you were:
    hands raised in blessing
    bouncing on your feet
    so willing to
    love
    us and me and them and
    him
    as God so
    loved
    the world
    with, surely, angels
    at your side and behind
    and around.

    But I could only
    see a darkness
    billow from
    organ pipes
    to claim your shadow,
    sneak from
    under choir robes
    wrap your wrists
    (again)
    in chains and
    the laughter couldn’t’ve
    been yours because you
    were screaming
    as its claws sunk beneath
    your soul.

    So instead
    I wept
    because I have such trouble
    drawing hands.

  • Yes, But

    March 10th, 2018

    Our fear of slippery slopes
    kills joy in its sleep,
    ties God’s hands behind our backs,
    rises from Satan’s coffee to
    curl about his face as he stands
    in his bathrobe watching a black
    dawn loom above the trees.

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