It’s a ball of knotted string
Stuck under my ribcage.
Whenever I start to untangle it,
I break a sweat & forget
Why I even tried.
It’s thirst after a tall glass
Of water, aching, curling
Around my neck like a vise.
It’s the damp
Lingering in a spring day,
Eyes that could hold an ocean
But that never look into mine.
It’s wild, honeyed laughter that
I chase around the corner, only to find
There was
Nothing
There.
today's air tastes like berries
and overused metaphors. the shadows run
across golden ground, and i look
at our old stone wall like they would in farmers' days.
a boundary, a gate
inspired by "Roselily" by Alice Walker
Someone has painted smog across the sky
And made her hands soft–
No more sewing needles or thorny flowers
There is nothing like the floating feeling of trying to do pilates in socks and listening to Cigarettes After Sex as your knees scrape against the carpeted floor and the almost-black almost-night clings to the windows.
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