Ice Storms
Written 1/17/2026 Day 27 of 100 –
Immigration detainees know nothing
Of the snow beyond their cells.
They know of deadly ice storms
within the
borders of
America the great, though.
A dream we once sold,
told everyone they could reach.
“I’m not mad at you.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Mom.”
To point a gun in their face,
The moment they start
to look less white.
Milk
written 1/18/2026- Day 28 of 100
We all know the father
who somehow got lost,
on the way to the store,
never to return.
Sadly, I wish the same could be said
for mine.
Went for the milk,
never came back.
But in fact,
he did return,
after my mom
filed for divorce.
He returned to
hold me up on his shoulders
at six,
having me recite
what
I
saw
through the window
of the
next
woman
who left.
He returned
to
call
and
promise
a million visits,
only a dozen
or so
actually
fruitful.
He returned
to
buy me
cigarettes
at barely
thirteen,
to scold
me
when the cops returned me
after curfew,
to
miss
almost
every
performance
or
game.
So don’t hold it against me when
I wish he would have just
“gone for the milk.”
Poet’s Note
I wrote this poem after a conversation with my partner, Kelsey. We were talking after work and they said, “You should write a poem about how you wish your dad had just went for the milk and not came back, like the cliché.” I agreed with that sentiment, and the idea stuck with me.
Later, I got in the shower and played with the prompt in my head. I was letting the thought move around, twist, and settle. By the time I stepped out, the poem had taken shape. It’s a reflection on absence, failed promises, and the complicated ways someone can return without ever really being there. It’s short, jagged, and uneven because that’s the memory of him, and that’s the truth I wanted to capture.
Say it. Don’t spray it.