American Elegy Podcast

Once, a man who thought he was a king, came to trade with the Illuminaires. Draped in fur and greed he came with gold as tall as he- With great demands that were but masks for pleas for mercy. And the Illuminaires, being generous, did this favor for the rich man, but their price was this: Take your gold, and forget this place exists. But men, being unable to resist, returned, to demand another fav...

Once, in a dream, I found myself in the forest listening to a strange man tell me a story. He walked around a fire, drinking from a cup carved from a horn; covered in streaks of midnight mimicking tree branches that curved up his body, and across his eyes. As he came closer and retreated from the fire, stumbling as he told his tale, he looked like he was welcomed by the forest. He told me the stor...

This poem was an exploration on the way guilt and grief can settle into the sediment of a family, and how love becomes another form of survival. I wrote it thinking about a specific conflict but it could be about any generation of soldiers, in any war, returning different than they when they left. Unrecognizable to themselves, and the people who love them the most. Every war leaves behind a versio...

If you’ve been to small town America, you know this place. You may live here. You may have been friends with Summer. You may even miss it, from time to time. How it used to be. Before. But - do you know? Who killed the town? Was it The Stranger who Came in the night All those summers ago, And killed Our girl? Left her in the crick bed picked dry as her daddy’s pockets? It seems like It all started...

She did tell him, She didn’t love him. He did know All The stories, Around Las Vegas. He knew what really drove her - What really moved her - And he knew it wasn’t him. Knew only the safety of Shimmering jewels and stacks of cash, Made her feel like she could buy her way out of trouble. She always knew, The bottom could drop out at any time. Men like Sam Rothstein Think Possession is 9/10ths of th...

When you were young, your mother said she could see out of the back of her head. But even she had to sleep, sometimes. Offering you a quiet respite From her watchful gaze. She taught you everything you know, like: Each half of an orcas brain alternates being awake, So it never loses consciousness And never stops swimming. A few years ago, you saw the story of a mother orca who’d lost her calf and...

Lord, if I have a daughter, let her live two lifetimes and see me married in both of them. In one, let him leave me - and let me not be crushed. In the other, let him love me like a homecoming. But somehow, God, let me show her Love is a gift, and not sustenance It only needs her to survive. Storm Season has made its way to American Elegy. Make sure you spread the news. This is a public episode. I...

I wrote this poem a year ago. It's about the experience when you enter a new relationship, where honied smiles feel like salt on the wound, congratulations feel like curses, and invitations to reminisce feel like a trap. "Afterthought" is about what it means when the past comes back to haunt you, even in moments of new joy. As though they caught the scent of death, The vultures of relationships pa...

Love Drunk This piece started at my grandmother's breakfast table, and ended in a whiskey glass. It's about wanting more than what's easy, waiting for what burns true, and knowing that some love stories are better aged with time. “You held out for champagne, and didn’t even get beer.” My grandmother says to me one morning over breakfast. But I don’t think I’d like the bitter aftertaste of poison,...