knocking one against the other
a rib cage wide
enough for a belly
to whimper
and want to
see a tall man
sleeping
Showing posts with label shinya. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shinya. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Sunday, January 19, 2014
I didn't know she died of you
that day we walked her on the beach-
her midnight blue, lycra pantsuit
swishing as her legs cut toward to water.
Off to the side my flannel bottoms stayed
tucked into winter boots.
The moist sand gave way beneath her weight.
The waves lapped at thin ankles,
bulging calves, stretched thighs,
round-melon bottom,
paunch, chest, jawline
hairline.
You must have been back on the rug by then.
that day we walked her on the beach-
her midnight blue, lycra pantsuit
swishing as her legs cut toward to water.
Off to the side my flannel bottoms stayed
tucked into winter boots.
The moist sand gave way beneath her weight.
The waves lapped at thin ankles,
bulging calves, stretched thighs,
round-melon bottom,
paunch, chest, jawline
hairline.
You must have been back on the rug by then.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Omega
Years ago I thought I might hide in the pantry
as my children burst through the door
shouting for pudding snacks.
Now, seeing your splotchy face, teeth stretching out for air,
your eyes averting mine,
I know to fear a smothering love
that might take me over,
as I try to peel the stripes from your shirt.
as my children burst through the door
shouting for pudding snacks.
Now, seeing your splotchy face, teeth stretching out for air,
your eyes averting mine,
I know to fear a smothering love
that might take me over,
as I try to peel the stripes from your shirt.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
East
In the stairwell
with pearls:
your heaving
your lost inventory
your secret taxi routes
your park bench days.
I'd outline
the shape of you
in india ink
if you weren't so paranoid.
with pearls:
your heaving
your lost inventory
your secret taxi routes
your park bench days.
I'd outline
the shape of you
in india ink
if you weren't so paranoid.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Anchor
Are you out there with your
soft hair and hair brush?
We sat by the creek but it was too loud to hear each other.
We walked arm in arm through meadows.
We rolled on carpets, cleaned nightly by men.
I loved your lisp
the last time I saw you, when i didn't know how to be proper.
It made you seem like an old friend, new.
You were a master of: the sloppy bun,
stepping on the backs of my shoes
as we headed back in from the yard,
reporting to me from the table just feet
away from where I sat
the purple eyeshadow makes it look like someone punched you.
Now you are a mother
I think.
Before you came over, I made a list
of reasons why we should be friends
and you thought it was strange
that my house had no curtains.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Friday, January 3, 2014
Landline
Rest the phone on your broken collar bone
and explain to me again why we can't meet
in the streets of Highland.
I want to see you in your sweatpants,
I want to buy a van with you, to live in,
once we get our driver's license.
I've never met an aries whose hand I couldn't hold,
but your neck's gotten wider as the years pass
and there's the soft sound of soapy water
shaken in the bottle.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
i would guess your hair is curly
like the letters in your name.
Your love left a code of threat
on your would-be lover's wall.
He rests now against the tree
as the snow gives way beneath my weight.
How did it take so long to realize
my steady feet are planted on the
strong, soft, freckled shoulders of
the women who came before me?
A song whispered from one ear to the next
and he is still two flights behind.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
You say the hedgehog kept away the scorpions.
I show you how to bend in the hallway
or I could if I weren't scared of your answer.
A folded piece of paper and
every outcome is no.
You stack cubes into an L and shoot at me then
your arms reach high to drape on mother.
Your back presses hard against the wall,
or into my hand as I push you up the stairs.
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