La misma causa

Hay algo que solo puedo expresar así,

y no es mi amor,

porque no encuentro palabras dulces

en esta lengua exterior.

Pero en cierto modo irónico

me funciona mejor

porque hay algo que sólo puedo expresar así

y eso es el dolor.

To my knowledge, this is the only poem I’ve ever written in Spanish. (Corrections are appreciated haha).  Last time, I talked about my study abroad semester in Salamanca, Spain; I also wrote this poem at that time.  I liked the irony that I was using Spanish to express my frustration at being in a place that speaks Spanish.

I tried running this through Google Translate, but it butchers it, so here’s my translation:


There’s something I can only express this way,

and it’s not my love,

because I can’t find sweet words

in this foreign tongue.

But in a certain ironic way,

it serves me better,

because there’s something I can only express this way,

and that is sorrow.


Lit Mag Poetry: Mi Salamanca

The shirt no longer smells like you;

I left it crumpled on the bed.

I wanna shoot whoever did up this room

(if they’re not already dead),


Because I’m so sick of harvest gold

and crying down the telephone,

But you’re here,

and I’m there,

and it’s 67 days ‘til home.


It’s Sunday night

and you’re begging “Never again, never again,”

and all I can say is “I’m sorry.”

Te echo de menos, but you wouldn’t understand.

Just say, “I miss you, too.”


“We’re halfway through,” this email reads,

but I feel I’m wearing thin.

I’m falling asleep to songs about hips and hearts,

and dreaming of your smooth skin.


And I’m so sick of going out alone

and wasting money on my mobile phone

Because you’re here

and I’m there

and it’s 38 days ‘til home.


And it’s Sunday night

and you’re begging “Never again, never again, no,”

and all I can say is “I’m sorry.”

Te echo de menos, but you wouldn’t understand.

Just say, “I miss you, too.”

Salamanca, Spain

I couldn’t find my printed copy of this poem, but it was published in Confiscated, my college literary magazine, in 2007.  I wrote it in fall 2006 when I spent a semester abroad in Spain, mainly in Salamanca.  It was a wonderful experience, but I missed my boyfriend (now husband) a lot.  I was feeling quite lonely in a hotel room in Santander (with ugly decor in harvest gold…) and started writing this about it.

It’s actually a song, as most of my poems are.  I was listening to Fall Out Boy’s album From Under the Cork Tree on repeat at the time (“songs about hips and hearts”), and not only did it get me through that semester emotionally, it inspired me to start writing songs again.  When I submitted this to my lit mag, even though I removed my real name, one of the other editors immediately knew it was mine and picked up the FOB reference.

Te echo de menos obviously means I miss you in Spanish.  My husband does not speak any Spanish haha.

Lit mag poetry: Hudson River at Inwood by Ernest Lawson

File:Ernest Lawson - The Hudson at Inwood (c. 1917).jpg
The Hudson at Inwood (c.1917), Ernest Lawson (public domain)


Published in Confiscated, 2006.

This piece was written for a class on poetry writing, and it’s the only thing I wrote for that class that I actually like.  As an exercise in ekphrastic poetry, we were given postcards with works of art on them to inspire us; I can’t find the exact one I had, but mine looked very similar to the top image.  Artist Ernest Lawson did many paintings of the area around Inwood.

I wrote this piece almost all at once very quickly, while sitting in the music building on campus.  I might have been waiting for a flute lesson or rehearsal.  It’s actually a song, which is true of many of my poems.  I had been struggling in the poetry class for a while (I found the prof pretentious, and all the other students were lit majors), but once I started writing it as a song, this one just seemed to click for me.

When I met with the prof to revise this poem (which was the only thing I wrote that he remotely liked, either), he made some suggestions and I dutifully made corrections and handed it in.  Then I published the original in the literary magazine, because the corrections ruined the rhythm of the song.

I ended up with a B in the class, which hurt my GPA.  It’s the only college course I regret taking.  I honestly haven’t written much poetry since.

If I were to publish this again today, I’d rearrange some of the stanzas, swapping the 2nd halves of the choruses so it ends with “You wonder why you’re lonely here…” instead of “They tell you…” and also swapping the second verse stanzas so “Let me see those bright eyes” comes first.

Lit mag poetry: She only likes me at midnight

Published in Perception, 03-04 Issue Two

So this one time, my friend Ashley for some reason said the phrase “she only likes me at midnight,” and I thought it was so cool for some reason I wrote a poem around it.

I’m not entirely sure what it’s about.  In my head I pictured a scene like a masked ball. With Cinderella showing up at midnight, instead of leaving then.  The narrator might be caught in an untenable situation, but unwilling to walk away because the highs seem worth the lows.

I still like this one a lot.