Dream of Steve, on the day of his memorial service, which I couldn't attend

 

I spent last night 

looking for you everywhere

they said you’d be at the house

but I couldn’t find the right room

and when I did, they thought you were around

that you’d be back soon

that maybe you were there

 

and we waited, and I looked

people all willing to help

even if they needed help

 

and I looked for you all last night

I never found you

you were gone

you were gone

you’re gone

5/5/25

together and better

i cannot shake free

much as i pretend we walk smoothly now

unattached

reaching but not clutching

breathing a little more deeply

appreciating morning coffee alone

but yet

i don't cry when you leave

but i miss you

11/12/25

riverbed

Once again

I feel a sudden wobble

and the space between us

fills with eggshells

before I can blink

And it happens again and again 

I thought you were the strong one now

could lean on you

and we're just washing

further downstream

every fucking time this happens

12-9-25

The Soy Smuggler

The first time I had tempeh
a one-eyed guy named Seth cooked it up 
in a gas station parking lot
crouched over a camp stove in the dark, 
sesame oil in the skillet–

I leaned on his car and watched

as he splashed it with tamari,

sensed my hungry gaze,

tucked it into whole-grain bread

and handed it to me, 

adding more slabs to the pan for himself. 

I was unashamed by my neediness and appetite, 

and the hot food was delicious. 

A few hours earlier, we’d passed near a tornado

or it had passed near us–

listening to cassettes, we’d missed storm warnings

on the dashboard radio

but we didn’t know to take shelter

or see anywhere to do that

so we drove on under the eerie green sky,

two East Coast kids crossing the prairie.

We’d met the previous week 

on a rideshare bulletin board in Boulder,

him with a car, me needing a ride–

me with a duffle,

him with a cooler in the trunk

crammed with White Wave tofu and tempeh

because, he said, it was the best

and you couldn’t get it east of Boulder.

I knew nothing of that.

We made it home for the holidays–

Thanksgiving, probably–

taking turns driving through the night

and never again crossed paths on campus

because back then, a rideshare bulletin board was just that–

a place to meet a stranger to drive cross-country together,

sharing stories until we pulled into my parents' driveway--

I handed him some cash for gas,

gave cash for gas, unloaded and waved goodbye–

And if he told me how he lost his eye, I don’t remember

but I'l never forget that sandwich.

10/26/25