running out

Does one ever run out of things to write about?

There are not so many things in my life

There are small things

The quiet of the lake when I go by myself

There are the loud car rides with my sister when we sing

There are the evenings when I sit on our bed and listen to his music

There are all the smiley faces I draw in the margins

There is the library, my bangs blowing in my face, that cloud,

These boots, and the hum of my tires on the road before dusk

There is this skin spread like butter over this muscle and bones

There are the back rubs and hot and cold showers and, always, there are the dishes

It is a small thing, this life

It is a symphony of significance 

Mostly not like a symphony at all

I sometimes wonder if I will–

Run out of things to write about

If you will get bored of me

And my small things

If so, I do not mind

I have these arms around me 

This skin and bones for now

To soak up the sun

These hands for working

And resting and sowing 

Love like a garden

I have the dirt and the sky and the sun

All around me

I have a laughter all my own and my painted chipped nails

and I do not mind at all

I have someone(s) who will still love me

Without my poetry

And isn't that a kind of poetry

All on it's own?

— olivia gwyn

finding

Sometimes I find myself

Waiting for you

For your kingdom to come here

Other times, I find you 

Through the lime zest

And the orange peel scent

Fresh on my hands

I find you in the

Bruises on my shins

The split in my knuckle

And the clean hair dripping down my back

I find you in my 

Husbands t-shirt when it is wet

With my own grief

I find you in my mirror

Where I am met by my familiar

Bleary eyed, swollen face,

Made by you, who does all things well

I see your kingdom clearly in the dark

In the laughter around the kitchen table,

In all our friends serving themselves food 

And spilling drinks on the counter and laughing and cleaning it up and forgetting 

I see you in the 

Flowers on the windowsill,

The leftovers sent to college apartments in cheap Tupperware

And the notes left by the coffee pot

I hear you in the silence in the living room

Between old friends

I find you in the remembering and the forgetting

In the hounds' ears and the music turned up 

And windows down and my cheeks hurting from smiling

I see it in the faces I see

Every day

I see how you see me 

It makes me miss you sometimes

But I remember 

I am not waiting for you to be with me

I am not waiting to be loved

I see 

Your kingdom come

Like the dawn every morning

So sure

I don't even have to think about it

Like the whipping of sugar and cream 

Makes the fluffy beautiful cloud

Like a surprise every time

Like the breath from my open mouth

Makes a smoke signal

In the cold night

Like you keep rearing your 

Beautiful, glorious, kind, unexpected 

Head at every turn

Showing me how you are good and tender and with me

How you did everything to make it this way

To be so close, in the midst of me

Your kingdom is here

It is Wednesday

I'm sitting on my bed

Do you not perceive it?

– olivia gwyn

I am thinking about my childhood friends

I am thinking about my childhood friends

I am thinking about my childhood friends

And how I was never told how or when 

To say goodbye

More specifically, 

    I am thinking of you

No one tells you what to do with your childhood best friends after they go 

What to do with all those memories 

The sleepovers and couch sits

The wheezing laughter in the car and the fights 

No one ever told me to tell you 

How much I love(d) you

And think about you and how I can’t stop

While it wouldn’t have been weird

Did I ever tell you

     “I love you”?

I’m sure I did a thousand times,

    But I can’t remember a single one

Do you know I still do?

    Either way, I don’t believe you

I still have stories I want to tell you

    Like, I just want to hear your laugh

And I still dream about you and your brothers 

    Is this normal? What is wrong with me?

Should I call my doctor and ask,

    "When should I expect to recover?"

And I know the space where you were

Has been gone a long time

But it’s still an empty space 

And you’re still my best friend

    When I was 6

    And 11

    And 15

    And 20

And some days I still miss you

Like a child

Like I’m homesick for the way it used to be

– olivia gwyn