Poems About L

Beauty is not what you think. It's not the sunset. Everyone agrees about the sunset.

I mean I memorized the sound of your breathing when you're almost asleep.

The caged bird knows things the free bird never has to learn.

O hamburger, you beautiful democratic mess— you are the food that doesn't care.

She wore the backpack like a turtle shell—too big for the body, perfect for the bravery.

When you died in the game, the screen went dark and two words appeared: Continue? Game Over.

I carry a country that fits in no suitcase, that cannot be folded into neat squares.

I don't pray the way I was taught—on my knees, hands folded, words memorized like a password to heaven.

I didn't marry the man who brought flowers. I married the man who noticed I was crying in the kitchen and didn't ask why—just stood there and washed the dishes.

The eulogy is the hardest poem: you must condense a life into minutes, make a room full of crying people laugh at least once.

The machines keep count of something— not life exactly, more like the argument life makes

We shared a room for sixteen years and I still don't know your favorite color.