Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Through Mail

A box arrived with the mended teapot and a long letter sealed with wax. She
drew a picture of the clay figure she had included- it was like a hamster or
a gerbil, she said, but also entirely imagined. Already its long tail had split
into sections. I stared into the scratches marking its eyes and could not bear
to name it and make it knowable. Now it sits on my school desk, legs curled
beneath its flank, and waits for the day to come when I will need defending.


The summer field feels itself lost.
Engulfed in snow it becomes something lonelier.
"We shouted, we shook you," you tell me,
But my self absconded. Slipping through your fingers.
Lidded eyes and limp wrists were left.
After you pierced my flesh and fished me through the cold,
I writhed and blubbered.
After you reeled me in,
You packed me under deadening whiteness. To preserve me, you claimed.
The summer field, all prairiegrass and blackeyed Susans,
Has its many tasks, extending its palette past its boundaries.
The winter field submerges all else.
For those dear hours, I was annihilated.
And my body, a sold thing no longer,
Which you have long loved well-
Gossamer though it was-
Did not love you. Fleeting filament of light.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

About a Girl

sometimes things just happen to you
what just happens to you?
you know. things.
like poetry, or love, or remembering the time you walked barefoot over cold stone in India on your way to breakfast?
like when you saw that boy and you weren't in love with him any longer. you didn't want to tell him and admit you ever had felt that way.
I want to watch that movie so terribly. it would make everything make sense, the way the dialogue careens and the hand burns.
if you would text me first
if you would only
I just like the way these keys feel, the way the lids close slowly over my eyes and I don't have to fight it
I like the way I like you, you being the thing I want.
the thing that happened to me is meeting you drunk and wanting something out of that
when you don't remember,
what is there to remember?
is anything experienced, lived, felt?
ambulation, laughing in my sleep for you
the black razor of my phone implores me, you're so close.
always at my fingertips, won't you bring your hips to me?
I like your glasses and your hair.
I just like you I hope it's not a problem.