the good will pass

“You have to be careful with your choosing.  You can’t just keep passing up these good boys or eventually there won’t be any good boys around anymore.”

This was the warning to heed, when i broke up with the first boyfriend my family deeply approved of.. and it was repeated again when i left the second.

This cautionary mantra is made of the stuff that keeps me up at night,
tunneling holes in deep dark places,
& backtracking into well-worn spaces.
my mind creates a never-ending flow chart
which is ironic because of how many times i hit dead end answers.

Where do the good boys go?
Are they swept up by girls with plans,
& careers, that are just missing that one piece — there. a good boy. now it all fits.

& so what, if im fickle to a fault
& need more patience than most
is that to say i’ll be left with slim-pickings, or none at all?
If time works its inevitable magic
& i wrinkle, & age, & trade in my youth..
wouldn’t the boys i find then,
be more apt to deal with me?
less captivated by young finesse
& the body of a girl not ready to settle?

more dead ends.
i may be too optimistic,
but i’d like to believe that yes, the good will pass–
but will be replaced by something even better.


nice your pictures.
it’s become a game.
the more often i am pointed
about the obvious
the more you refuse to give me what’s obvious
to make a point.
We exchanged words we didn’t mean,
& are avoiding the potholes that we’ve come to memorize where they are in the winding lines of thought & conversation
oh, steer clear of that one.
But if you took those mini mementos out of hiding
& exposed them to daylight again
then maybe we could begin to string together
what we’ve learned to dodge
in safe light keeping.
oh, we’re clear in that one!
something even grainy,
poorly lit Polaroids
can’t help but capture.


I never understood
how you could cork it
set it on the shelf
and save it to be savored at a later date.
“Maturing with age,” you said.
“Better with time,” you said.
No expiration,
simply a harvest year
when all the good was plucked,
& strained
reassuring me this process ensured a culmination of all our best flavors.
& all i can do is wait
on reserve
reminiscing on the sweet summer
my only saving grace infused with all those tangible memories
kept safe within those thick tinted walls.
How i wish i could taste it again
because the only palpable flavor i have left is bitterness
caused by you insisting,
“Maybe later, the timing just isn’t right.”