Once the sex is gone, and backs become land for scratches instead of shifting planes when we move, I’d cry. Worse, I wouldn’t cry. I’d be numb and live for my children instead of you. That scares me, becoming siblings with an equal who used to want. It scares me more than alone ever will.
Archive | poetry RSS feed for this section
January 27, 2010
I’ll never get it out, all the feelings I have. I’ll never get them to you in a way you understand I’ll never know how to say it in a way that won’t make you grieve Because the second that they come out, these words that I want to say, The second that they make […]
August 20, 2009
You know you should be looking out at sea, watching gulls, or learning knots, but you can’t stop noticing the mate’s hands. They’re stained a kind of navy, as if they’ve been cleaned with plastic wrap, scrubbed several times, but it’s no use. You know you should be intrigued by all the people boarding, asking […]
May 15, 2009
psycherika via Flickr I love this. These Ray Lamontagne moments, where you’re just sitting at a bar with a glass of Rioja, listening to the soulful voice, the one that sings about flowers falling from hair, about how he’s been to hell and back, so most things bore him. It’s this sleepy lullaby that reminds […]
May 21, 2008
Never bleach your teeth the night before a dinner party, Mother said, because you won’t get a good nights sleep. You’ll be afraid of swallowing too much bleach, so you’ll drool on your pillows, and in the morning when you should be marinating the lamb, you’ll instead be stripping your marital bed and applying too […]
February 9, 2007
These days, though mostly the nights, have become a blur. I hear the wails in my sleep, stirring beneath a tent of comfort, hoping they’ll quiet. I read them poetry after they eat, trying to avoid the whole eat/sleep cycle where babies become dependent on eating in order to sleep. I never thought I’d be […]
December 4, 2006
If I were in New York with you, it would be snowing. My nose would be running, and I’d wipe it on my sleeve, and you’d see me do it and I’d shrug. Snow makes moments seem softer and more memorable. A lamp lit snowy night puts candlelight to shame, and we’d agree on something […]
July 13, 2005
Yeah, so the fcuk what. I’m an Avril Lavigne song. There. I said it. I can’t not be what I am, either. If you trying to turn me, into someone else, I’m not down with that.