Saturday, May 15, 2010

Okay.



So, somehow...
I feel good today.
I'm okay, you're okay,
Everything's...fine.

Like I downed a tin pack of Paxil
with a bucket of eucalyptus green tea and slid...
deep into a cloud of unpretentious cashmere
and expelled every wisp of breath from my lungs.



I feel above you, in my skin,
the gaggles of tan, 6 foot, 88 lb. girls
a stalking army, all in the same $45 lipstick,
strategically ripped tights
and grimaces.

Skyscraper heels, bare toes
Razor, grass blades
fresh and green and sharp
sticks and stones and silicone...
magazine hoes.
The stanza that rhymed, accidentally.



I feel...okay today.
Like floral dresses found in old basements
light shining through stick thighs
like hairless reeds in swamps on a hazy summer afternoon.
Like the earthy smell of mildew and warmth.

Like lemonade condensation
melting, melting away
into concrete and tabletops
high end designer boutique doorways
and nightclub stairwells.



Reality show camera lenses
that easy, languid look
from bedroom eyes...
the wet dew on morning grass.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Our Rosary Bed



You pressed your hand against the glass
and prayed for the Lord to save us.
Forgive me, Sister, for I have sinned
It has been 10 years, 3 months, 6 days, my 11th hour.
Since that time, when I did that thing...you know...
Now, at 24...
Locked behind paint split doors, unwashed hair pushed
from a furrowed forehead.



Please, hang a rosary
Hold it taut against my throat,
Sacrificial angel,
Let me into heaven
Let me breathe cracked relief
Make me pretty and clean
Brush the dirt from each my cheek
Wash blood from each my knee.



Blessed rose petals
In satin pink
Tiny saints in crystal boxes,
stained glass held against each wrist
Six Hail Marys and eight Our Fathers
You're fine, I promised,
At least, I had hoped I could promise.



But the guilt grew tall like lilacs
And the vines took both my ankles
Ivy at my waist
Tightened its grip
Pulled me down
Through the ground, through the earth,
down to where you live now.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Roadmaps



the bruise you left on my right hip is gone now
took two weeks, but it's faded
and i miss it
the blooming flower of yellow, purple, blue
blossoming under my skin
because you put it there
and now youre gone.



the gravel caught inside my feet have vanished
unstuck, pushed out by the city grit
and my no-nonsense summer sandals.



the small crack in my lip has healed
a shifting separation of earth
the tangy taste of metal
all gone
my tongue searches for wounds that
my body has already absorbed
sucked up
into its heart and core.



the sweat has evaporated, leaving me warm, buzzing
just a little
scratches gone, the roadmaps a blank canvas now.
my skirt still ripped, but dejected alone in the cleanest corner
of my bedroom.
i'll wear it the next time i see you.