Poems About L

After she died, her garden kept going—which felt, at first, like a betrayal.

The mountain doesn't care that you're climbing it. It was here before your species.

You've spent thirty years trying to be quieter, smaller, more convenient—

The cat does not love you. Let's be clear about that.

You came first. Four minutes. That's all it took for you to claim the title of oldest.

The moon has heard every confession ever whispered from a bedroom window.

Time takes the things you thought were permanent.

I'm not going to be cool about this. I've tried.

I looked it up: inside the chrysalis, the caterpillar doesn't just grow wings. It dissolves.

They are the original record of us— the vinyl before the streaming.

Love is like a house fire— not the kind that starts in the kitchen.

Ninety feet between the bases. Someone measured this and got it perfectly right.