I wish I had trauma that I could spin into a story, 

a story that would grip your thoughts tighter than leather binding, 

Something I could rip to shreds, over-analyze in the margins, 

i’m floating on my back with 

sunscreen spread along my nose and 

water lapping against my shoulders. 

i should be focusing on

how the sun is warming me from the outside — in or

This morning I listened to an interview 

with poet Ada Limón. She spoke about 

epiphanies and didactic endings

and how sometimes a poet must surrender 

to the discomfort of unknowing.

How sometimes it is best to listen 

yesterday, 

i was greeted by the moon herself in your driveway.

she left my palms damp with slobber in her wake

and i stood outside your front door,

feeling like a fraction, small but rightfully so