Sundays were bright blue a family drawn in sidewalk chalk and a hidden stack of mail; summer evaporated like old rain sun-scorched puddles at the base of the drive our feet were small- strong, calloused by hot pavement and we spoke love like it was a part of us like there was no hole in…Read more »
There’s sand in my sheets where I’ve carried the grit of travel into fiber into home strange a threshold crossed seamlessly, Virginia’s in the kitchen Georgia spilt atop the hutch the sheets are dusted, a comfortable grain against well-worn skin calves, unshaven and I’m the sand in someone else’s bed
Blue water is warmer thick skin is softer he said You tear like paper at my words and I can’t hold something so prickled, so sharp. Arms of rust, breasts of splintered wood victims of exposure to you.
I pasted feathers on my back so I could fly back if I got lost surely I could find home from way up high right? Wandering broken roads swept up in seas of identical grey concrete had come undone. Home I told my arms raised them high above me a crown of brown and gold…Read more »
You drag through plains heavy and slow and shrug at the earth centuries spent building the craters beneath your feet Do high winds swell in your chest can your igneous lips speak? thaw now and tell a tale gather time in your lungs and melt.
Flecks of gold fell from her fingertips / she was a dream apparition magic hips and something wicked on her lips – she knows what you want so ask her for it.
I miss the smell of cold when you’re young and it’s a fleeting thing not yet sunk into your bones not yet traced across your skin. Cold smelled like warmth like a patchwork quilt with an ancient current, a magic current. Smelled like hand-me-down t-shirts as nightgowns, and like one more chapter before bed. Cold…Read more »