Venus

tonight i fried an egg
and finished a carton
of ice cream i can feel
venus moving and something
loosening inside me
like shedding, stretching
like maybe you could shake me
right out of my skin

1/25/14

i can't even write the title of this poem down
but you probably know what it's called

i open my email to find pictures
of caribbean islands
little green gems in a turquoise sea

one is a photo of you squinting
a weight lifted from your face
we have the same dimples

in conversations i am measured
giving thoughtful explanations
but i dream of screaming at you
and wake up with my fist balled
against my own jaw

the other day i was parking my car
like you taught me and took my keys
out of the ignition to sit watching
the streetlights turn the fog a sickly orange

and here we are this mundane
heartbreak this particular ache
a thing i didn't want
you to teach me

whatever i'm doing it's not forgiveness
it's scraping the inside of a jar
with a spoon 

Vices

i gave up some vices
for a while but got tired
of keeping track and let them back
into the dusty rooms they stay in
in my mind, banging doors
i say it's just the wind and we all
pretend, that i'm drinking less and
sleeping more, and not writing your
name on pieces of paper to burn
ceremoniously in rituals that won't stick
i have a friend over for breakfast
we drink dark coffee and bare our souls
just let them out for some air
then tuck em back into our pockets
where the seam is pulling away from
the seat of our jeans, wander down
the street the sun is out look at this
blue sky who cares about your drinking
and your tired heart it is shimmering so
sweetly and the air is full of birdsong
you can almost hear the green things
rustling, under the cold earth

nine of swords

my blankets always get twisted
into a pile, into a nest
i am tossing and flopping
curling up tight, grinding my teeth
i woke this morning with a sore back
and hips which is from starting
to run again and also from holding on
to some sorrow or other
a few nights ago i dreamed my face
was rotting, i couldn't stop tearing it apart
black pockets of dusty mold burst
into clouds and then my whole face just
disappeared; that feeling upon waking
of walking yourself through hazy
logic models touching to make sure
your cheeks intact, your skin
greasy but there

parking like a girl

muttering obscenities and small prayers
under my breath
i crank the steering wheel to the right and left
bite my lip, crane my neck
i fishtail my way into the space
pull the parking brake, exhale,
step out to check the state
of this desperate parking job
i drove five times around the block
before finding this awkward spot
each bumper's gently wedged against
it's neighbor, but no scratches, then
a woman walks by and says "hey,
did you just do that? that's better than
anything i've ever seen from a man"

birthday poem

standing in my kitchen at 11:35 pm
nine days before i turn twenty-seven
my wet hair wrapped in a towel
scooping the end of a bag of tortilla chips
into my mouth, bare toe scratching bare ankle
i am trying to think of myself in this moment
the way i will remember me, trying to project myself
into the future and look back and say ah yes that girl
look at her! try to feel my future self's reminiscing
tenderness, try to let it warm the cool pit of anxious
in my gut; self-compassion comes down to trickery
playing the part of my own old soul, saving this moment
for her, the salty chips, my greasy fingers, this empty bag,
my dark kitchen, so she'll remember me now then

dreaming about driving

to dream about driving is to dream
about journeys and paths and maybe
sex - what is driving you - so, when i
dreamed that i went to your house
to try to see you but decided against it
walked back to my car, opened the driver-side door
and hesitated;
and then you appeared and got into the passenger side
and i drove us down the road, what does that mean?
is it significant that this car in my dream was actually
a red pickup truck, the kind you have to hoist yourself up and into
what do i need to pick up? my subconscious is a dodge commercial
what am i dodging? pregnant women
sometimes dream of trucks because of the load
they carry; perhaps i am pregnant with something, like regret
or desire; in fact i am bleeding with the new moon, not
picking up but dropping off, shedding, releasing
and if this dream took place in a valley in oregon
filled with sunshine, or maybe it was vermont, it was
definitely some northern wooded state, early summer
valley of death? fertility again? the woods denoting
transition, or escape, the sun seems like a good omen
but if it was glinting? where am i blind?
i couldn't see your face but i had been half hoping
not to find you anyway, was lurking, skulking, peering
into windows
feeling the thrill of the chase, before you found me
and we drove away

1/4/14

moving through rooms
cooking squash, feeling heavy
stucco lit against a storm grey sky
the air smells like water hitting dust
like thirst and quenching all at once
like not enough 
she asks you what, you stare down
at your hands against your thighs
everything is folded, still 
sheets and towels in cupboards, holding
space and waiting
walking soft exhausted tread, the
beige carpet is resigned
murmurs, tries to sympathize
press a palm to glass and feel 
the icy air outside, winter now 
the heat leaks from your fingertips
out out to meet the dark, the flickering
city lights crisply kissing the vast sky