This morning,
I woke up on the right side of the bed.
Literally.
I blinked back the smiling sun,
And sucked in a lungful
Of air charged with change.
I stretched long,
Sending my left leg on a reconnaissance mission,
To the other side of the mattress.
It was cool and utterly empty.
A reminder
That these days I sleep alone.
With a squeal of glee,
I flip-flopped to the center,
And let my limbs claim every inch,
As I made sheet angels.
A butterfly does not question whether she is worthy of having beautiful wings.
She simply takes a breath,
Emerges from her chrysalis,
And flies.
I’ve been missing my Eden’s
quirky gifts, but memories
still tempt, brisk like breeze’s breath.
My Eden—a pandemic
escape room— where we sat safe,
unmasked trees embraced us, those
fearless phoebes rasped their name.
I’ve milked all the pain
And aches i possibly could
From the hell you dragged me through
To turn you into poetry
And it has left me
Bone dry
You’ve cloaked me
In dull soaked apathy
And now its hard for me
To find metaphors in anything
At all
I sold my soul to you
Who has buried
It so far into the ground
I don’t have the willpower
To even try
To resurface
So i’ll lay here
With dirt under my fingernails
Watching for another vile
Thing you have done
That I can turn into
Callused stanzas
And sign my name beneath it
I hope you find these
Someday
And i hope it buries you
Even deeper
I like to lose myself in textures and colours, lines, bumps, and swirls, like emotions and earth and turntables and deliverance. A journey, not in a straight line, not with a map, not even with a labyrinth’s guideposts. Alcohol smoothness and sharpness. Double-tongued clickbait like a promise twisted on tastebuds and glittered under touch. It was meant to be rough, that was the delight. Let the dirt sneak through our fingers like a secret and remember its damp fresh smell of presence and life – life and death. It is unassuming but bolder than red and yellow on a wall background behind the speaker. Turn the speaker off. Remember who you are. Remember. Just remember. Like watching a film on replay over and over and the black earth settles in as the sky cracks open and lets water onto it. Washed clean, washed. Forgotten, turned, analysed, and put in a drawer. This is nonsense, she said, sticking the spade in sopping ground, and it gave with a only a slight squelching groan, a human groan, a textured groan. I am earthened and wet.
*an Impressionist poem written on this day as part of the Verse Virtual June Poetry Event and Workshop.
your voice—musical frission—lured me in.
Bright. Jovial. Unceasing.
A succubus to which
my eyes are open to
despite the dark.
Transmogrify,
blooming grotesquely before me.
I don’t care.
your voice—
musical frission—
lured me in.
Explaining you are agathokakological,
as are the rest of us.
Nothing to run from,
nothing to “fix”
your hours spent in front of the mirror
pure sciamachy.
You are perfectly imperfect, my dear.
Chapter 1. Born Near the Bayou But Never See Alligators
Chapter 2. Jacks, Jump Rope, and Spelling Word Stories
Chapter 3. Marching in Formation, Wearing White Gloves
Chapter 4. Learning the Rebel Yell
Chapter 5. One Hundred-Plus Books on the Shelf my Husband Built for Me
Chapter 6. Teaching to Trip the Light Fantastic on the Page
Chapter 7. “Mama, Are You Putting on a Lady?”
Chapter 8. I’ll Climb the Rungs if I Can Find the Ladder
Chapter 9. Look, Ma, No Hands!
Chapter 10. Green Thoughts, Green Wood
Chapter 11. Coming of Age: To Be Continued
Traps craftily designed
To catch our feet
If we dare stray
Baits composed
Of food and shelter
Masquerading as love
Wounds mutilating
When we thrash
At the grip of metal teeth
Keira and I go to the resale shop with green walls
following each other around like ducklings
she finds an ACDC record for her father
there’s a Princess Mononoke poster next to a Harry Styles poster
I buy us matching peace sign rings
and a shirt from a band I’ve never heard of
the old cashier handwrites my receipt and spills coins into my hand
we eat pasta and laugh about years ago
her parents call me my new name
I mark the day safe in my head
