an open book, leatherbound with a tattered cover
rests on an antique nightstand
the dim orange glow from a hurricane lamp provides
perfect light to imagine you using my body as a lectern from which to read your sacred words

you rest one hand on my shoulder
and I accept the weight of a tome
you place upon exposed dimples of Venus 

my spine pressing against its spine (waiting patiently)
while you scratch notes above perfect parallel lines
to break my concentration as devoted object
and usher my return to curious creature

my hips shift,
like a soft wave summoning a lost sailor ashore
you sweep your lips with feather-light precision against my ear
your hands follow whispered words
wandering along my serpentine frame
where you will be granted safe passage to discover

untamed urge

Piled on my parents’ quilt,

It’s been a weird week 
without my car 
and not seeing my baby. 
It’s even freakier
how time gets sneakier.
It’s now June,
but it was just Easter. 
I can’t really tell the days apart either.

Some days are blurs 
as most are meager.
At times it’s hard to be my own boss
and I just want to follow a leader,
but I probably wouldn’t trust them either. 

oh well, 
I’ll just keep waiting for tomorrow like it’s Christmas. 

no real plans, just checking a few things off the endless to do list but not with too much ergency, sleeping in a little later, no rush mornings, breakfast and lunches eaten later and with each other, dinners on the grill, sitting outside like you dont have anywhere to be, iced tea in one hand and a book in the other

Sleeping with myself

Tangled in soft sheets

My curls bouncing on my cheeks

The scent of eucalyptus on my pillows

Intermingled with your scent 

Embedded into my sheets

The softness of my cover

Curled gently into my hand

The softness of my skin

Brushing against my sheets

The warmth of the morning sunshine

Peeking through my window

Gently kissing my face

An easy way to start my morning

I enjoy this peace

This quiet solitude to myself

Though I can imagine you next to me

Your body breathing smoothly

Heat off your back against my breast

I enjoy this time to myself

To awake heavily 

Still under the lull of sleep

A haziness through my lashes

As I become more aware

Of how my body takes up 

The fullness of my bed

Arms and legs long

Seeing how I am only here in this space

No companionship in this moment

But the fullness of self in this moment

To not always have you there

To know I can have comfort

To wake up with myself 

There I stood, with my light-up unicorn sneakers and minuscule Dora-themed backpack
Feeling the most grief and despair a six-year-old could ever feel as I watched
The love of my life, in my grade but one year older, jump into his mom’s 2003 Kia,
And leave me behind forever
Nalan could barely speak any English, and I couldn’t understand a word he said in his native language
All I knew was that I heard the most melodic sound ever the first time he opened his mouth
Even more breathtaking than the lady singing about Friday nights over the stereo
And I swore to hear that voice for the rest of my life
But then, the teacher brought him up to the front of the class, smiling this great, big smile as she delivered the news that permanently altered my first-grade mind
“Nalan will be leaving our class and going back to his home country, Sri Lanka”
My heart sunk down to my kitty-cat socks, Sri Lanka?
What even was this place, stealing Nalan from me, stealing my heart right out of my chest?He gave me a dizzying kiss on my forehead that day at dismissal, and I had to stupidly watch him drive away
I still remember him, cropped dark hair, bright brown eyes
I wonder if he remembers me,
Wherever he is now

The moon, her brilliant disc lending
night a bit of light, is valleyed and ridged—

those Bailey’s Beads distort even eclipses’
geometry. The sun, too, with flares

and filaments is no flawless circle, nor
its heat even-searing. In a crooked smile,

a cat’s nicked ear, a child’s misspelled word
we glimpse what is endearing. With these

foibles we walk our days’ cracked paths,
accepting even the treachery of unfinished

edges. So, when perfection visits, we 
worship its transcendence, gather
 
in wreaths and cambric shirts, swoon
at Stonehenge’s solstice splendor.

My eyes have never been as sharp as my tongue, 
but I’ve been trying to observe more than act, 
not passive as the breeze but watchful as the wind
bringing autumn to foliage verdant and rapturous. 

So, when did you start having the hospital as a phone contact? 
Or start sitting in a chair to pray? 
Or buying stacks of anti-wrinkle creams? 
When did the dark crown of your hair fade to a silvery halo? 

When did you begin attending graduations? 
When did we begin running your errands? 
Or discussing tile options, laundry, and house payments? 
When was the last time I held your hand to walk? 

You were right — you often (but not always!) are:
it was gone sooner than I knew it arrived, the Before
noted in the novels you stacked by my bedside, 
the awkward, wondrous period I dare not name. 

I turn twenty soon, the youngest I will ever presently be,
and see the fruit flowering, not bursting forth but untethering 
from the weight of frost, sluggishly, slower than I thought 
possible or reasonable but nonetheless rising. 

It seems tiresome, this test of a journey, 
but I see now that one day, after the toil, it will be 
as achingly beautiful as you believe.

On the dating app, she appears a pear
green in golden sunlight, ripe enough yes
but just tart enough to hide the real pictures
of her real self and he says, “Any chance
I’ll get to see your face?” and she says, “Careful.
You know what happened to Moses
when he asked the same of God.”

sometimes the near-misses hit me still 
as hard as any real thing could have,
one of the relics my old friend Anxiety likes to dangle like an overfilled keychain
rattling my ear

today?  it was only a small thing, quickly corrected, no harm no foul
but the the potential of harm, to anyone I love
shakes me still
still
frozen, slow moving as a glacier while brain tries to let body hold it in a bear hug
shadowboxer neurons with eyes closed
can you faint and fight at the same time?

i force myself to pause… to take stock of truth… try to shift the rock on my chest

it’s all right, all is right, all will be well
it was only a near miss afterall

but still
i hold pebbles in my hand