5:31, Report Loss of Power
Steaming, store-bought ravioli is great and all, but what I really crave is a vanilla
protein shake from the fridge, which I can’t open because the cold air will escape,
cold air that has risen exponentially in value since the kitchen lights slipped
into a narcoleptic episode and the speaker’s music developed a wicked
case of strep throat.
6:22, 98 Households Affected
I pick through crusty candy
at the bottom of my hoard, a package of sour Halloween Trollis,
a plastic light bulb filled with M&Ms, a broken piece of a stale Rice Krispy treat
because I’m suddenly craving everything I can’t have: luscious lemon yogurt,
soft honey wheat, smoky gouda.
7:17, No Visible Progress
Silence won’t respond to my noise complaints,
and I can’t concentrate enough to read. I resort to playing pictionary and hangman
on mismatched notecards with my sister. Our own foolishness
is the funniest thing we can think of, and we howl like sleep-deprived
lunatics.
7:59, Expect Electricity Soon
There’s little else to do besides stare out my basement window
at the flowers wobbling like bar-hoppers stumbling home
after a long night. I tumble to the floor, cackling as my mother somersaults
across kitty-littered carpet. The room is cool, but we have succumbed to mania.
I’m still salivating for that protein shake, but we’re still laughing.
It could be worse.
Our sun is not the biggest or the brightest star
But it is the one closest to us,
It is our sun.
You only stayed around when I was in the goldilocks zone
Close enough that we didn’t grow cold
Others we may not revolve around but provide a constant,
Feeding warmth,
Day in, day out
The concept of soulmates discounts everyone who gives warmth in passing
Valuing a second half,
One perfect person who may or may not exist
The biggest and brightest star
Supporting alien life we haven’t yet found
But signal out for every night
Every pinprick of light can be wished on
Used to navigate
Make up constellations that no star alone could form
Outstretched with my arms on your cross
Drink my holy blood, wash my feet love
Betray me with a softly kiss, be my Mary Magdalene
Redden my nails at sundown digging
the moon out with my bare hands
to bring to you from heaven’s cradled arms,
how a dog parcels a cardinal in her teeth.
What do you do with the moon?
You swallow it whole in the morning dew,
let the light in, let the rest go, render stone,
pitting a fruit gnawed out of sweetness.
Suck sugared blood out of a song about love
and offer me none, but let me wade in your wake.
You’re a devourer, I’m devout to your apathy
eclipsed by my own heart, it’s enormity.
The crocsomia’s sword leaves pointing
toward the final spring roses,
that arc over peonies
slumped after a rain storm.
Mint runs amok, says
summer is now.
Bleeding hearts
cry out
loud.
Didn’t you say we’d die before
we reached the end of our stories?
What a page-turner, you’d say, each time
I described a new shell I found
at my feet in the surf, or the song I heard
fly down from a bird too far gone
in the clouds to be seen. Tell me another,
I’d say—a joke or a lie always pouring
from that big voice you carried so well,
like trees throwing the wind, and we’d
laugh until we remembered to breath.
I’ll be late showing up to my own funeral,
you said—a prophecy, a spell, a dare
for whoever was listening.
The way that you touch me isn’t gentle to me anymore
It doesn’t bring what it used to
The love and connection
Leaning into that familiarity
Instead, it brings aches
Discomfort
I grit my teeth and bear it
And still I flinch away from as your fingers dig into my muscles
In a motion that you perform to provide relief, why do I feel such pain?
