Autobiography · Relationships


One pressed against the wall. One hanging off the edge. We curl up together in a twin-size bed. His arm falls asleep lying under me and I lose my pillow to the floor. In the morning I tell him we’ll call this time “the beginning years”. When I lived in a warehouse apartment with no kitchen and he lived out of a suitcase. The days before we went shopping for sheets together. Before we stayed up late sitting on the floor in our kitchen.

On the couch he rests his head on my chest. Listens intently to my heartbeat and taps his fingers in rhythm. I ask him what we’re going to do. What’s next? And he explains to me he’ll do the two-hour drive for however long he needs to. That the discomfort of distance is worth the joy of being in relationship.

In the afternoon we go for coffee, so when night comes again I find myself awake and writing. The low glow of my screen illuminating my finger tips as he sleeps gently next to me. And there is safety in his breathing. In the way his chest lifts and lowers the blanket on top of me. And I find myself not wanting anything else from existence. Just let me be.

Photo courtesy of Josh Felise.

Autobiography · Relationships


"rot" © Dean McCoy, 2012. CC BY 2.0.
rot” © Dean McCoy, 2012. CC BY 2.0.
At one in the morning he climbs in bed next to me. Lips at the back of my neck, our arms and legs tangling. He whispers confessions so sweet they can only be said in the dark.

The sun comes up and he tells me that every word still drips with honesty. He does not shy away from loving. Doesn’t shy away from anything.

A life conceived of saying what we mean. Openness and validation. Reassurances and listening.

During dinner he makes me laugh until my belly aches and I finally remember what it feels like to be excited about living. Not even sure if “remember” is the right word. This is new.

We are all hand holding and bleach-scented hotel sheets. A new beginning that gets to be whatever we want it to be.

When everyone else leaves the room, he leans in to kiss me. All soft lips and safety, his hands engulf my body.

I finally understand what it feels like to not be fumbling. Roots. Wings.

He loves me steadily. An exponential graph of passion and longing welcomed happily.

Still life. All shadows and light. Everything about him is home. Comforting.

And when he goes to sleep I rest my hand on his hip and pull him into me. Knowing that I want to be right here for as long as he’ll let me.


Unrailed: Out of Print

Unrailed-FinalDear readers,
With my divorce, my name change, and the completely new and different life I now have, I’ve decided to stop printing my first book. The last ten copies are signed and for sale from me on Amazon.
I hope to write another collection of poems and creative nonfiction pieces in the next year. It will be exciting to see the difference between the content and feel of the two. Here’s hoping for something lighter.