The only time I've dreamed of flying I was laying next to you wrapped in white sheets. Originally written April 12 2018, in a room with sparkling lights.
The first time I cleaned a freshly dead body, I called you. I was submerged in a hot bath hours after my shift ended, Prosecco from the bottle to my lips, and I told you about the eyelids that crept open and disrupted my feeble attempts at sleep. I told you about the color of… Continue reading Simply
Don't test a Scorpio with your ambiguity. Originally written August 2017, sketched April 2018 in a tap room.
Today I found some six-year-old writing hidden beneath an innocuous document title that spoke truths I’d yet to realize, but that’s not really the point. That’s not the place in my heart that’s aching, although it does ache when I think of her name. The point is in the truth; in speaking it, in all… Continue reading Today
spin beads to lake tide hail mary, full of grace lips press words to fragments of moonlight scattered through waves spun by wind our father, who art in heaven my tracks car tracks their tracks into water hail mary, full of grace pebbles press to flesh dimpling ripples she forgot to know our father, who… Continue reading Blasphemer
Cello strings and bare feet on a dirty dance floor Hanging up scotch for water, neat in an empty tap room. Originally written February 21 2018, in a crowded tap room.
I’ve been unloved because of the softness in my stomach. I’ve been unloved because of the way my upper lip curls when I laugh. I’ve been unloved because of the way my nose looks from the side. I’ve been unloved because of my politics and my passion for them, for the rights of my humans.… Continue reading Unloved
My heart breaks when I see mountains. I breathe from the very bottom of my lungs, and my stomach pulls inward, like I'm expelling everything I have in me as sacrifice to try and bring me back to that place where my feet sank into the moss covered earth, where I'd reach into the damp… Continue reading Mountains
I see you in a million shades of blue moving water lit by the sun, in daybreak and dusk burning up stars, and sad notes seeping in minor chords from speakers drenched in nostalgia. Originally written February 18 2018, DeSoto Falls in Alabama.
Talk to him again. I did, but I don't want to cross it off, because it's something I want to do over and over again. In surprising places. In unexpected places. In places where I feel vulnerable and have the arrogance to believe I'm at peace, I want to be there, at that place, that… Continue reading No. 121