Poems About L

We have a language that no one else speaks.

The man at the coffee shop paid for the person behind him. This is not the poem.

Marriage is a long argument about the thermostat.

You're not going to believe this, but the thing that's breaking you right now won't matter in three years.

A book is a door that doesn't need a key.

The roses I remember most are the ones you didn't send.

Not the big things. Everyone is grateful for the big things.

Strength is not the fist. It's the unclenching.

My sister's hands look like mine—same short fingers, same bitten nails, same tendency to talk with them when the mouth runs out of words.

We grew up in the same house but different childhoods—you got the version after they figured some things out.

The maples don't grieve. That's the first lesson.

You didn't bring flowers. You brought takeout and the correct opinion about the show I was watching.