I knew this day would come

because since the first day

we’ve been together,

we’ve always grown apart.

some day, I knew,

you would see that other people

captivated you

so much more.

when I reached over

in the middle of the night

to caress your back,

you will pull away,

perhaps ask me to leave.

And I will have lost you.

Lost us.

Behind closed doors

and private conversations,

plans made

to move on with your life

without me.

And after all these years,

I knew that this was coming.

But it is so much more painful

to be sitting in the middle of it,

watching it happen.


that is what’s best for you.

What it truly means to grow.

And I’ll simply be a spectator,

a passerby on your journey.


Looking For God In All The Wrong Places

Mother’s wisdom told you to look

for God in the face of your child

or perhaps in that moment

to see divinity soaked in the sweat

at the end of that time

with a lover,

raw and immortal.

And God can always be found

at the very bottom of the valley,

silent, and lonely,

with only echos

to the sky.

God lives there.

to be at the bottom of the


looking up in despair

at the thought

of the determination

and magic needed to

climb, climb, climb

with every last fingernail

to reach the top

or the middle

or simply to begin.


So many people have it all backwards

God isn’t at the end.

She isn’t death or faraway destinations

in the clouds.

She is birth.

She is the fertility of each of our waking moments.

God isn’t the final answer.

She is always the hope

in the new beginning.



In a Relationship with Lee Vining

I’d forgotten water existed.

from the sky, anyway.

and here, floating downstream,

mountains and promontories

are built like castles

to worship

the blue of the lakes

the crisp, summer skies.

I’ve practiced saying “Tuolumne”

in the mirror,

So as not to embarrass myself

in Lee Vining.

Now we’re so far away

from the blight of suburbia

spray tans



and I thought it would work

to make my Lee Vining long distance,

but the “mountains are calling,”

and. I. Have. succumbed.

Helicopter Cooking

we go to the college

to know the culture

and make the decisions

we know are the best

for Chloe and Sophie and Jordan.

by working the job

and earning the money

we hustle through traffic

in the neighborhood without parking

on a Thursday school night

to provide the enriching experience

of learning how to make

authentic Italian meatballs

tiramisu, too

for the precious children

we lose our livers over

To make them better citizens

and more independent

while we watch,


and document,

to share, and brag to the neighbors,

instead of simply

taking the time

to go home and look in

Jake’s sweet eyes,

unwrap the ground beef, the garlic, the breadcrumbs,

and share the pleasure of cracking eggs

while dancing to the Beatles,

handmixing the oozy meal

bopping to the English Beat or Madness.

Somewhere along the line

we seem to have forgotten

the messiness of families

and meatballs

is the best part.

They Think I’m An Ass

I wonder if there is a support group

for people who just have awful families,

not mentally ill or abusive or anything,

just filled with racism and propriety

like someone lifted the plug in the tub

and all the humanity

that was ever in

their golf visors

or martini-soaked livers

just went down the drain

and a kind of demented alzheimer’s kicked in

where they blame Treyvon Martin for dying

and curse the Chaldeans for moving into the neighborhood, even though they are also Catholics.

A bunch of body-snatched Kennedys.

Seated comfortably behind the gated community,

free of blacks, browns, Muslims, poor single mothers, dirty children,

they watch their Cspan. Their sports center.

Leaving the house when the brown woman comes to clean.

Is there a support group for those of us suffering

with families who eat hypocrisy like bran muffins?

Where we can connect with people who still have souls

to truly make America great again?