I’d be content to hold his hand and just roam
I swear, that boy could make hell feel like home.
the walls of my childhood bedroom
mopped up all my tears like a mouthless mother,
silent and seeping. a sin eater.
she welcomes me back
with open-mouthed kisses leaking
my own fermented poison.
the fingertips up and down my back are
in the back of a concrete building i find the place
where i wrote, in sharpie, ‘TIFFANY WAS HERE!’
for the first time.
that desperate need to exist never really left me.
lying on my back,
her tongue traces the bottom row of my teeth,
the crooked front two
a harsh gate.
(one by one, collapsing)
balloons filled with breath that could have
saved someone once.
A slap to the face, a punch, a clout
Beating into submission; is that what power’s about?
You wanted to get me into cookies again.
Do you remember when we were children, and the only thing you ever wanted from my house was the box of vanilla wafers? I remember watching you fight the dog for the crumbs on the floor. Remember seeing my mother walk in on us, me in the chair, peering down at you as you licked your fingers and dabbed up the little crumbles.
I remember she wasn’t happy with me for egging you on, and I remember you wanted to start up the whole cookies thing again this summer –
But I didn’t tell you I’m moving on.
I’m an ice cream sandwich kind of gal now.
The train rocked back and forth as she fished through her bag. That box was probably squished by now, but it was in there; she knew she’d packed it. She must have packed it. Oh what she wouldn’t give for a sandwich–
AH HA. There were those Nilla Wafers.
She pulled them out of the backpack and popped open the box, pulling out the shiny plastic bag. Now if she could just open them without waking her seatmate.
although the words I once confessed were undoubtedly true
this poem will be the last that I write about you.
You’re a man of the spotlight, always cast for the lead
Toeing the line between ambition and greed
A girl on your arm; to accessorize, not love
Money the only thing you’ll ever be proud of.
like being thrown out of a plane with no strings, no chute
or left stranded in a maze without a map or a route
catapulted into a state in which I haven’t any clue
that’s how it felt when I fell in love with you.
Fell in love? More like tripped.
I was not the dreamy kind of girl. I was recovering from a too long dysfunctional relationship.
And then you catapulted me into liking you. Your smile. Your eyes. Your love of science fiction and classic rock.
I’m not exactly annoyed, but I am confused. How do I like you so much already?
a mother conceals her uncertainty that her child will reawake
The boss signed off on it. Extreme circumstances, and all that.
I shoved my hand in, deep, past the elastic skin, the fat layer, the thin and curving rib bones. I felt the heart in my palm, and squeezed.
And Jason Pike was no more.
and we’re off!
no matter which way we may push and we pull
we float on at the whim of the hands of people
a draft magnified from the wing of a seagull
echoing ripples from bells found upon the steeple
There’s salt all over this soft shell of mine. Air gently flowing from the fans above. I scrub, I scrub. The tenderness of rubbing away the old and dead, and bringing forward fresh, pink skin. I feel like a raw little crab, thrown momentarily into the boiling pot. For that minute it is not torture, but a warm spa. Tender and soothing to my bones.
If was a beautiful way to travel, in a teeny little car towing a silver bubble behind that magically opened into a home. chilling roadside, cliff side, Oceanside, it was wonderful.
then the lightning came.
Manhattan, with its tall shivery buildings held in embraces of cold stone and silver glass, frozen in repose over the night sky and distant horizons. She loved Manhattan with its last two syllables tripping over each other on her tongue and the small personal cafes with their walls of warmth defrosting her face after a battle with the chill wind. She loved steadfast winter in Manhattan with streetlights shattering sparks over shiny stones embedded in the sidewalk asphalt, shining in rainbows against the stark black of the evening sky. She loved Manhattan in its death and its dark, and loved Manhattan all the more in its life and its light, accepting the city for what it was: a story cherished in the hearts of children, a dream crumpled at the bottom of a desolate, polluted river, a hope with wings spread against the shuttered landscape, a yearning desire to be free. Manhattan was all these things, and more.
The tender glow of sunlight broke through the city air
Massaging tired shoulders, wounding with its glare
Words dealt by a stranger, given with a gentle heart
Not knowing that they struck the mind like a target by a dart.
She reached and grabbed and poured and shook and he watched. A drop of red juice trickling down her arm.
If I could’ve dreamt, I think my eyes would have been a little less tired when i woke today. My shoulders ached, I was warm and gentle, right up until I had to wake. Shaken by the rough slam into reality, slapped into myself. I must get out of bed.
something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue
Wait three days to call, or else you’ll break the rules.
Never admit that you’re intrigued; honesty’s for fools.
Want to tell her you’re in love? Don’t be silly, it’s too quick
Don’t you know that love’s a game; a complex riddle, practiced trick?
- Load More