No One Ever Does

My whole body freezes over
when I expose my head,
face first into the
wet wind of Sundays.
The pill you forced
into my hand drops heavily
and I see in blue, blue, blue
when I dream of you.

I wore a hole through
the soles of my boots.
I never learned how
to be a light walker,
I’m a proper stomper,
a prompt stopper.

I don’t think I could
walk a straight line
if I tried,
but who are we kidding,
the lines they traced
are overrated and curved,
and we’re not trying at all.

My ears begin to burn.
Someone must be thinking of me,
relating my body parts
to their significant others,
Did you see how wide her hips were?
Do you think her eyebrows were colored?
They couldn’t possibly remember
the chip in my tooth.
No one ever does.

23

You only love me,
age 23,
in this city.
The future holds no possibility,
and you feel no responsibility,
as far as I can see,
for the way I’ll feel
when you leave.

You’ll go on to be
a bright gleam,
in a sea
of shining beings:
people with straight teeth,
desirable duties,
and somewhere to sleep.

And I’ll still be
a young lady,
age 23,
boney knees
and too giving,
with a proclivity
for everything weak.

The Body is Tired

Isn’t it true
that
saying “I miss you”
in the middle of the night
is less of a truth
than in the morning?

One is spoken
when
the body is tired–
spent, weak, solitary,
spoken when
the mind has boiled down
to a single thought:
“I wish I wasn’t alone tonight.”

The other is spoken
when the body is young–
fresh, awake, renewed,
spoken when
the mind hasn’t had time
to filter through the
swaying thoughts
of the day,
spoken when
your voice speaks
without waver
without trepidation
with strength

With the clarity of the morning,
no foggy breath.
One is spoken
with a meaning.

“I miss you.”

november

you still put one foot in front of the other.

the day may be new but the habits are old.

routines and patterns and the days in and days out.

it’s hard to forget which direction
your head was turned five minutes ago.

this afternoon was warm again
for last month’s sake
and for one fleeting second
i felt as though our summer wasn’t
a timid excuse for the previous year.

it’s november, and I still can’t take this costume off.

Stay

We
forgot
to
turn
on
the
heat
when
it
grew
cold
in
October.

I
kept
going
outside
when
my
hair
was
wet
and
I
kept
catching
colds.

I
knew
what
was
wrong
but
I
didn’t
want
to
say
it.

Neither
of
us
worked
hard
enough
to
make
the
other
want
to
stay.

Stranger Beauty

I can see your black hair
and gray eyes,
your crooked fingers
and broken nails.
Your spine bends
near the top
as if you can’t bare the sight
of today.

Yours is a stranger beauty.

I chew on my thick brown hair
until it is heavy and hangs,
wet strands over my shoulders.
My lips are dry and sore
from the constant
talk talk talk
of how I could make
everything easier by
getting up
and getting away.

This is a familiar beauty.

You can see right through
the contacts in my eyes
and know that I can’t actually
hide
behind thin craters of plastic–
soft, soft as rain
but easier to hold.

My fingers fit
in the holes of your face,
the scars from drinks
long ago consumed
and burns from
falling too hard
on foreign pavement.

There is nothing beautiful
about this city
except that we are beautifully
wrecked in the same places.

Hold onto my shoulder please,
because I think I might
slip through this realm of
consciousness
into an easier state of being.

As easily as I came into this world,
I could more easily leave.