Feb 21

i am one and you are all of them

on days like these, we hold tea between our teeth.
ask to be calmed by some warm, hopeless skin

like a thin line of chai against porcelain.
sad kids don’t live the way we used to.

we take long showers because warmth holds us softly,
twirl licorice with our tongues as if to tie a knot with an aftertaste.

an acquired feel, winter has;
and fifteen years of ice i've swallowed.

sometimes, i want you to spell out a syllable in my voice.
words seem so much kinder when they drip from your tongue.

if i could have even a bowl of your mistakes, i’d place them on the kitchen counter beside a warm plate of figs,
how much i would like to trade errors because yours, at least, make a nice centerpiece.


before we drift, (like thick fish bones in a tall glass of water)

close the door and tell me how you spoke when you were brittle.
Feb 20

almond cake


maybe i’ll bake again one day.
fold egg whites like blue sheets in july,

summer water on my lips and down the drain as if weren’t an issue anymore.
the rice will always turn to pudding and i’ll never be as old as wine
 
Oct 11

15 words (who am i)

Oct 11

secretly written in ninth grade french class

secretly written in ninth grade french class

fold your love into a napkin and leave it on the porch for a lonely bird.
don’t address it to a name in quill ink because the stains will leak across the wood and how will you explain that to your mother?
“i had so much love and no one to share it with, that i felt it my only hope to give it away”
leave it or take it; i’ll be sipping tea in my kitchen, waiting.

when you have an answer, tell me slowly please.
i’m sensitive to bitter honesty but prone to its sting.