Posts for June 4, 2022 (page 3)

I.
it was the morning after
you fucked me the first time—
falling into each other
after the movie,
trying not to stop early
becuase i was scared i’d shit

it was the morning after
you told me you loved me
(of course, this was just casual sex)
& when i woke in the middle of the night
in a panic, you grabbed me, it’s okay,
& held me against your chest

it was the morning after
when you made me coffee
harvested from your hometown
(knowing i like it black) &
prepared a SPAM, egg, & swiss sandwich
on whole wheat toast

it was the morning after
when i thought i couldn’t love anyone’s
slender fingers more, watching you
makeup your face, laugh with your mom,
piss in the tub to save water, & i could
almost forget you chastising me

it was the morning after
you fucked someone else,
when you sent me off
with banana bread, protein bars,
& coffee (because you don’t like when i
don’t eat), & i drove you to the airport

it was the morning after
when you looked at your phone
more than me, talked to your roommates
while i cried in the bathroom, hugged me,
said you’d walk me out, & instead,
just walked me to the door

II.
i’ve learned i don’t like sleeping alone
or showering alone—even when
i cook, i can’t help but think
of your hands & your dance
& my smile, although i was always
in your way, following you like a dog

i was driving alone (not to your
place) down a small road, near
a creek, with the windows down, &
i saw two small white butterflies
twirling upward—i couldn’t tell if
they loved or hated each other

(& then i started to cry)

III.
standing by myself
in the kitchen,
i wash my hands
because there’s a leak
in the bathroom sink

the soap is just some simple
fragrance, you say, but i love
how it smells

i forgot how strange
it feels to kiss someone new

we didn’t even hook-up,
but at midnight, when i left,
the late-night-tea-drinkers in the courtyard
stared at me like i was
some clandestine lover

Belongings on one chair,
body on another,
arm stretched
across a third,
where a woman
inconveniently
takes up the seat,
looking uncomfortable
and trying
to be as small
as possible.    

Watching this,
one can imagine
the man
as an oversized balloon
squeezing itself
into every crevice
until a woman
comes along
with a brooch
and pricks it,
watching it woosh
upwards,
away.

You are stuck in neutral

An idea that no one truly loves you,

You won’t accept it

And who’s to blame you?

With a mother who loved drugs more,

And a lonely father showing you no other way

And you’ve taken care of yourself for so long

Like an engine running on old oil

You’re stubborn, stuck in your ways

You don’t really let anyone in

And trust isn’t in your vocabulary.

And independency isn’t a bad thing,

I dabble in it myself.

I’m not asking you to change,

I’m just asking you to take the car out of neutral

And maybe you’ll see that down that road

There are beautiful opportunities

Opportunities that won’t affect your independency

Ones that will show you there is love in the world

Opportunities that will fuel new experiences and ideas

Put it in drive

i’ve heard words say, “Eyes are
mirrors of a soul”

en cap  sulated  minor  miseries

          EXPLORATIONS in spaces
          With traces of fizz . . . & FIRE

F. Scott loved Zelda they burned
          one sordid flamin’ trail
never re-gretted nor forgetted . . .

Gatsby saw the lite in the fog pretended
          to be a Blue Blood
pre-tended to swim sin bubbles

          bloated on a sultry dream . . .
                         drank too many to float

I have fallen in love 
with the tech
at my CVS pharmacy:
He remembers my birthdate,
when we all wore surgical masks,
his eyebrows would smile 
when I reached the front of the line.

I Don’t Fear Being Alone.
I Don’t Fear Death.
I Don’t Fear Being Forgotten.

i fear that i may never love myself

i fear that if i pushed myself to do
my best i would still be disappointed

i fear what i may do to myself in the face
of this disappointment

more than i fear never knowing 

my grasp of frailty is tenuous 

I am aware that every insect is equal in the eyes of god,

Next to my childhood home
a Museum of Illusions was opened.

Why are you by yourself,
certain illusions need a couple,
normally I don’t allow people on their own,
invite someone to accompany you.

Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova

In your class I learned about astronomical bodies
And how kids should be raised to shoot for the moon
And one day we’ll land among those bright stars,
So you landed in Amsterdam when you quit teaching.
I remember you told me my elementary acrylics
Were the closest thing you’d seen to a real Van Gogh,
And when you ran your fingertips over a replica
Of his museum sunflowers, you thought quietly of me.
“Just don’t cut off your ear” you whispered
Through the cold Atlantic wind. And I laughed.
It was funny only because you didn’t know the joke
About a scar so close but always hidden inside
Those photos of me as a fifth grader the day you left.
You’d never know how my brother rocketed my head
Through a glass coffee table at a car dealership,
And that my ear is now held on by medical sutures.
You’d never know what my life has become by now.
If I had your address I’d recount how these five years
Have pulled us through many separate universes.
I’d tell you that I’ve given up trying to reach the moon
Or even the stars. All I want now is a quiet Dutch garden
To grow flowers for other people to paint.