An Unwanted Man

An overlooked weed.
An inconvenient wildflower.
A bad man. An unwanted man.

The car arrives. So does the heartbeat. So does the doubt.

Old friends, most of them.

Faces familiar as the sunflower. Some aged, some not.
Ten seconds to the garage. It takes a year.

Hugs. Small talk. The heart going harder... harder, harder.

Everyone here belongs to someone.
I watch how they look at each other, and I put on the smile I brought.

Then someone familiar crosses the room, straight toward me.

This whole party is for you.

Wait. No. Not me.
Not the weed. Not the wildflower. Not the unwanted.

And yet...

It was.

P.S. The truth under this one: it is a thank you. For a long time, I was sure I was the weed, the unwanted one. Some of you surrounded me with love anyway, long before I could believe it was mine. The party in the poem is not really a party. It is you. Thank you. All of you.

--Drew 🪷

A lone figure stands at the edge of cut golden stubble and tall pink wildflowers at sunset. Warm watercolor light, mournful backyard scene.

On a Sunny Day

The entire backyard is FULL of thriving wildflowers as I type this. Pollinators of all sorts. During a tough time in my life, I bought a bunch of native wildflower seeds, and chaotic-good-manner sort of sprinkled threw them all over. Just add water, ha. Slowly and then...shockingly

A solitary figure walks through a quiet dusk parking lot toward a parked car, beneath pale service lights and a vast muted sky with soft rose-gray clouds.

May I Give You This Gift?

I stopped at that same store again. Same counter, same (strangely comforting) dim fluorescent everything. The man who passed my little handwritten card to its intended receiver the other day was working. We're close acquaintances, in the small way you get close to someone whose register you keep

Watercolor of two simple thresholds in a dim neutral interior: one filled with warm light, one shadowed and empty, with a soft golden wash reaching across the floor toward the shadowed one.

An Unexpected Brother

There is a man who works at a location I drive past most days. I often stop in for some essentials. He has a name on his work badge but I am not going to write it here. I have not had the opportunity to ask for his approval, nor

A plant nursery at golden hour: stacked terracotta pots, palm trunks, a wooden bench, string lights overhead

Nothing more urgent.

Tonight I sat down at a neighbor's (beautiful) nursery that I always drive by but rarely stop. Out of respect for them and their privacy, I'll exclude their name. Their setup is the kind of thing some folks would call "super messy". And that&

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On a Sunny Day

May I Give You This Gift?

An Unexpected Brother

Nothing more urgent.