the sound of your heart


i wanted your story to end like this




-both of us looking up at the light that spills into your room

streaming across your bed

-kissing yout face.

my head on yout heart ear listening to its music

while you stroke my tangled hair like you had done many times before.

the sound of your heart

my first and last lullaby.

you close your eyes as if to sleep

and i hear the final notes of your song.











J. Hamilton












in the wake of spring

rain pic

It is spring

and the rain spills its large drops on my bare legs,

sandled feet.

InĀ hair

loose in a pony tail

that sits across my shoulders.

On my face,

where tears

go unnoticed

in the down pour.

It is true what she says,

that rain is a kind

of letting go.

It is so much nicer than the sun,

she often says.

Maybe if I wait a while

I will listen to its music

and slowly

let go.

And accept

two deaths

in the wake of spring;

-my mother’s parting-

her cold

alabaster skin, pale like the lilies that filled my room when she died.

and the second death –

when my heart knew it was over

and I was left with pieces

of myself I had to put back together.

J. Hamilton











In my hair

on my face,