In June I learned the quieter streets
to your apartment. Over alleys
and the fusion of dim moons
our slide was sideways. You followed me
down Higgins in long strides.
In the streetlight your verbs
looked muscular, your eyes bruised.
Your lips and the sound of your spine
by the river seemed big. Between
my white socks and polka-dots, I saw
the strange field between words and things
where people come together.
Because I allowed myself to wander
sidewalks and daydreams I thought
I loved this world or myself.
I wrote fairy tales. For years
I'd been using pencils
so I'd be forced to not erase.
I started this poem on a night I don't understand
changed. We have to go elsewhere.
I can't arrange the days, stones, things that were said.
Summer was warm so my shape depended.
Against the things you said I kept setting wrong.
I felt small. Hoarded needles. Didn't want dinner.
Just the same, I eat.
My mouth loves its own circular grace,
shedding the frustration of things that were whole.
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3 comments:
Your poetry is so beautiful! It's mysterious and evocative and I get slices of pictures that leave me wanting a larger slice or more flicers...I'm sorry this one is from a sad, frustrated, lonely place! I love you - you can always fall sideways to me.
That shouldn't be flicers, it should be flickers!
kindra, amber's right, when i read your poetry i get brief pictures love ya babe mom
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