j. palmer horst —  April 11, 2015 — Leave a comment

I told him I loved him;
I told him God loved him.

He asked me
to pray for him.

I knew I’d see him again,
because he knew there was
someone that I could pray to.


j. palmer horst —  March 24, 2015 — Leave a comment

He said his hand felt heavier.
But when he looked in her eyes
His own never looked lighter.


j. palmer horst —  March 23, 2015 — Leave a comment

While I was leaving,
my small cut stitched,

he sat slouched against
the white washed wall,
some red on his coat,
knowing there was

nothing else
to do.


j. palmer horst —  March 22, 2015 — 2 Comments

I saw her at a party,
for the first time
in a long time,
adjusting her

It was not as
waterproof as

She left holding hands
with him (I suppose,
as severance).

Acute analgesia

j. palmer horst —  March 21, 2015 — Leave a comment

She sat on the curb
in thirty degrees
with only the
light jacket
she hadn’t

She told me (when
I offered mine)
“I’m not cold.”

She never said
she was warm.

Letting go.

j. palmer horst —  March 19, 2015 — Leave a comment

I suppose I never knew
the extent to which
you would try
to let go.

The doctor said
you could

you chose
not to listen?

(some time ago)

j. palmer horst —  December 11, 2014 — Leave a comment

You were the snow against the window
While I sat in a seventy degree room
With an empty wood fireplace
But a spitting radiator
To bar the chill.

My mother was sitting with my father
By the radiator, hand in hand.
All I was holding was a cold
Smartphone with no
Text messages.