On Knitting

Sitting in this dim room,
lit with the flickering television,
I am knitting this little cap.
pushing and pulling the needles,
weaving and half braiding
the yarn and time and my love
for the new child
of my own.

The strings pulled taut
cross over and over each other
like my memory of
the smaller and the younger and the before
and each one crosses over the next,
then through the holes that we made in each other;
and we move through them too
because sometimes holes don't mean broken,
but really mean there is just another way for the light to get in.

Before You

i am a bluetiredredscreamingcrazy person without you.
blue without and tired from thinking
and red from screaming and crying and trying to 
forget about you.
you are driving me crazy, (but always did).  


how did we end up like this?  
i loved you and (you loved me?) and i think what went wrong was
i gave up and i let you give up and you let me give up and you gave up.  And maybe
sometimes we just don't have the energy to not give up,
and that is how things go wrong.


i don't want to remember
but i want to remember how you were; instead
i remember how you ended up:
as one half of a broken us.


i am a bluetiredredscreamingcrazy person without you, 
but then again, i guess i was that before you too.