Two Poems

In the Hoh Rain Forest

The trees support
each other with
thick blankets of air.

My God, they seem
ready for anything
as my boyfriend and I
arch our necks
to meet them.

We borrow money
to make this trip,
to feel them near us.

Rain starts
inside my body.
I grab his hand,
exhale the belief
that nothing inside us
will grow.

All I want is
in his bones.

 

He Thought He Could Talk About It

It might have been that Phil Collins song,
the one he used to laugh about
when they were first together—
hearing it,
browsing the colorful aisles
of Walgreen's, looking ahead
to the pharmacy line. It might
have had something to do with
the checker, asking him as usual, “How's
your wife doing?” Using his
credit card name.

It might have been fog
so thick he couldn't
locate his parked car that day.

Anyway, he thought he could finally
talk to her about it,
but he was wrong.
You can't talk to
the missing about life.