Nature's WindowsLemonade sunriseseen through the glass panelsof a dragonfly's wings.
Penning AutumnFolded between the pages of booksyou bound our spineswhere the dandelions grow--the anxious poetry of autumn.
Winter's WindowMisted palm printmelting ice spiderwebs,fingers framed by sunlight.
Space BlanketsPurple cloudsdraped over crescent hips--bashful twin moons.
Hinging TimeAutumn's diarydances in the breeze--pages ripped from barren branches.My father's father's bloodwas the same color, once--an angry, untamed flame.My own blood is an oil-spillchasing the metal of my joints--each move creaks.
Today, I am DrowningSome days,the pastweighs nothing--snowflakesfloatingin a tiny glass globewaitingto be carried awayon the wind.Other days,the pastbreathes with the sea--kelptangling about my anklesbeneathturbulent waves.
Husks of the PastYellow Jacket flannel hangsin the back of my closet,an active memory hive.I put it on sometimes,deep pockets engulfing meand buttons pressed to my skinlike a threat.A trace of your colognestill lingers,the promise of springsnatched away too soon.I dream of being suffocated;it always smells like you.
Spaghetti SauceTomorrowlurks beneath your tongue,mocking mewith hefty promises.I'm false bravadoin human confinements,heartbeats rotting--I knowthe goodbye exists,breathingbeneath your baggage.I pile more sauceonto your spaghetti,praying it will settle--dead weight--in your stomachand keep you lovingthe flaws of mefor one more day.
Glimpsing MorningLittle bluebird preensperched on the garden fence,morning dewclinging to clenched talons.Tomorrow,those featherswill be strewnacross my lawn--little bluebird beakbroken,singing no more.
snakeI will slough offall my feelings for youlike a second skinfor somebody elseto slip into
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,swollen around the words she never said;dark rings around her eyeslike planets unremembered, anda staleness to her touch,the crystalline Dead Sea.she's living like a storythat's already been told"if no one loved youwould you mean anything at all?"in that moment,we forget to exist.
DebrisIn between words,the sky is only half-littered.Oblivion goes on for miles; you'rein his eyes, and I was never good enough.When his words slip from the phone,I am a black holetrying to grasp at the sunrise.
birdlike bonesit's like youwrapped your fingersaround my throatand then hadthe nerve to ask meto breathe.
Alivefarthest from my mindis the thought of turning backand drowning in a sea of thoughts,struggling for air -i do not want my mind possessed,with whispers of ‘never, never’rustling within me like a taffeta skirtacross the floor –instead,i want to be alive,not simply breathing –a survivor, not a victim.
1,001 NightsIn a land ofdreams and dust:the curve ofa half-hazed sun,devoured.
Winter was never my favorite season.It’s 3:05 a.m.and I am thinking I justmade you up to hurt myself.Remember last winter:they blamed the snow in our handsfor our blue flesh,ocean snow settledwhere they used to swim.It’s 10:33 in the morningand I am winter.I am ice;snow and sunrise;chilly mornings from another time.Tales of my winter heartbeckon like a big, flashing,neon sign that says steal compass,sail north,and disappear.It’s 4:15 p.m.The snowfall is so silent.I know a place whereeven the crickets can’t be heard,winter air chokingeverysilence.It was a cold,winter morning when you left:when we realized it was a different kind of coldcaused by 3mm of distancebetween our fingertips.This is about forgetting your silenceand my vague memories.The weatherman didn’t fail me –when love grows cold,ice shards crystalize on the blacklake surrounding my heart.
Burying HeartstringsConfessions of a misguided poet:this is me being brave,no echo of my footstepsafter the ice has melted.There is a song for this,but you've been gone findinghindsight.Borrowing the past,I leave my heart in Haitiwhere we should be.
unfilteredii’d tell you I hated youif you had a voice or a face,or any sense of tangibility asidefrom the spider fingers you useto crawl through my brainyou are not beautiful, likeall the other poets protest. youare the red in my eye, likea pen bled; the ragged tomy fingernails, the hitch of my breathwhen it catches in my throat.iibefore i go, i’ll write a million letters (a millionpennies for my thoughts, bitter, embeddedunder my tongue) and send them to peoplei’ve never met, telling them how my eyes were bluewhen i was little but now are the same grayi’m choking on, how i am maddie and how that’s shortfor a name i was never graceful enough for, howi tell myself stories of lives i’ll never live so ican go to sleepbecause when i’m really gone, that’s all that’ll be leftof meiii(it’s funny what peopletry to justify with words)ivyou never loved me,you selfish thing, i wonder whyi wasted so many nights relivin
LiliyaBright-eyed,bird-bonedwhisper girl;dark-dressed,moon-backedmistress of light.
desiccatei.you were 22 years in the making,a sponge without watersince the day they plucked you from the oceanand left the sea salt to sink into your pores.ii.I was something too heavy to wade in,barely able to breathe,21 years in the makingwith floodgates barring my emotionssince the age of four.iii.At the first sign of droplets,the salt of you drew me inand eased the heaviness of my heart.iiii.In your confessions of self-love,in your tales of embrocation,I was only ever your liniment;our brevitywas a thing to be forgotten from the start.
deconstructing in your sighsiit’s not like they said it would be easy.when you look at meopen-mouthed and dewey-eyed,negligent; and your laughterslurs together like runoff sewage,and your voice is drowning ina certain kind of sadness, the onereserved for the faultswe never asked for; and you sigh,heavy, like I am back sitting inyour throat between your adam’s appleand the truths you dare not speak;you pity me.iiit’s that very same weakness whichdelivered me naked and tremblinginto the skin of a personI never was; pitydoes not require action, disappointmentdoes not take away from the burning human needto overcome oneself. I’m sick of livingtomorrow regretting the person I am today;I drained her all out in a fit of desperation,and filled myself through with vodka gigglesand scribbled lines and you, darling, you,who fears nothing but the skeleton girlsleeping quietly in your closet.
NymphTranslucent asa dragonfly wing—her hair fansin the water, andthe sun bleeds.
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
roadkillnotice how the truck will swerveto avoid the animal that is dying,but not quite deadenough.
because we're too afraid to fly in daylightjust when i thought i was home,the welcome matturned to tacks beneath my feet.i apologized for the bloodthat crept into the cracks and stained your porch.this isn't the redwood i had in mind;but i think it's kind of beautiful,in the same waya moth can't find its way to the starsfrom inside the garage so itflicks its maddened wings to make ating, ting, tingon a dying lightbulb."abyssus abyssum invocat,"i whisper to the winged-dreameras she makes her way across my cheek.i know she hears it as sheeases past my softly, parted lips.ex glande quercus,her wings thump morse codeagainst the rawness of my throatand i swallow to quiet her pain.hush, now shush. be still, my dear;trees do not talk or bleed.you've given your wings to grow with meand we will reach the heavens.we will be greater than the oaksas our forest of hair plants us among the stars;then, we will be home.sister;gemini,hitched to the skywith the veins of your wingsand stuck with the red of
Disabused.To tell the truthis to tear my tongue from itsroot and spill bloodinto a glass so you candrink it;your mouth tastingall I'd ever tasted inlove before-- before there were roses on the benchtops and kisses stolen between kisses given and a hand on my hand saying more in its touch than you ever could with your words.-- I'd learnt that loveisn't swallowing fists and blood betweenmeals.
we were found beneath the seai've been meaning to tell you(i swear i have)i'm hopelessly addicted to throwingmessages in bottlesand losing themtothe milky way.i had once thrown them across the mid--length of seasbut then you wouldfind them,read themand leave them,much like the nights you foundrhythm in mymetronome sheets.i found your messages(i swear i have)i'm tired of shooting seagullsto protectand watch them flytothe milky way.i had once chased them shouting mid--length of the seabut then you wouldwrite a letter,throw it to me,and windowsill sit,much like the night you foundpoetry on myscarred stomach.and then i found verses(i swear i didn't mean to)tattooed belowmyfloating ribs.i thought you stoppedyelling metaphors to keep meafloat thesewater-galaxy-borne messagesin rundownwine bottles.i just thought you'dstop painting your dreamson my saltyskin.i wrote fabricated honesty(i swear i didn't mean to)surfing belowyourfloating ribs.i wanted to whisp
Counting LightningA faint flush of bluecrowded by angry coals;the sky holds her breath.