By: Nate Maye

1. Her

This poem is for her,
a gift, a sacred flower
that I am not able to give
in any other way
but a few hieroglyphics
on a flashing screen,
a series of characters
that will hopefully mean
at least a little.

2. Pocket

I carry a small piece
of who I should be, in my
back pocket at all time,
a tiny tome to remind me
when I get angry
when I want to destroy
when I tear myself
up inside and forget my
humanity, a quick glance
returns me.

3. Good Morning

The roll of traffic
tells me another day
has started.
I twitch my toe
to remind myself I am
human, remind
myself that everyone
else is too.
I go through today’s
recital in my mind,
step by step,
but never bothering
to dance when I’m
out and about.

4. Murmur

I am half-whisper
almost-truth
I am nearly-unintelligible
often-repeated
I am a soft noise
loud as thunder to the ants
at our feet
I am saying my words
again to make them
clearer, but this is to
no avail, and I am
just a stutter.