It’s because I’m a poet
that my world
is full of comma splices

I find them in the middle
of ordinary sentences.
They haunt me after “one”s
and before “she”s
and in between
words that are old friends

I just wanted the reader
to pause.
I defend her, my comma
the world has been rough on her

a little curl,

you don’t belong here

please go away

Don’t worry,
little comma,
you can come over here

, , ,

I have a home for you
I have so many options.

What if you had a window?
A glass door?
What if your balcony was
beneath the beaver moon
on Thanksgiving?
I don’t think she knows,
my comma,
how thankful I am
for her soft pause,
clarifying acts

the strenth she shows as
the debate
still doesn’t end after


how to use a comma…,
“but why do you have to use me,
aren’t we friends?”