Saturday is freshly clipped grass and
the sound of lawn mowers,
sun sliding over skin,
deliciously golden heat
pricking sweat and
sunburns.
Saturday is laying in the freshness with you,
the feeling of your fingertips
gliding and cherishing,
sheets askew as
we unite.
I could settle in Saturday
for a lifetime.
anger is a memory
i keep returning to,
over and over
like the cabins of a ferris
wheel, like when i arrive
at the top something will
be different but it's always,
always the same
for a long time i've wanted to say something of hope,
that tickle me pink folly; bandaid on the cataclysmic
knees of pandora, burning scapegoat, gilded question.
whatever it was that waltzed through the porcelain jar
knew already of wreckage, salivation, a whet-stemmed
glass piercing the feathered breast of some antediluvian
beast. here the map says nothing of subtraction: siren-songed,
salted meat, an ocean of both distance and destination. refraction,
anachronism. science
(5/30) was the earth of the garden sowed? by incalyscent, literature
Literature
(5/30) was the earth of the garden sowed?
so tell me, darling
what is your body mourning?
when you woke up, still choking
on dirt, why was your body
already in some sort of grief?
what ill did you feel, being
grown for someone else? sometimes
you run your hands up your sides
and count the bones there. is it
easier knowing that somehow,
you are whole and he is not? you
don’t know what to do
with the love that was supposed
to be his. you’re a full moon,
folding into a crescent, but
you still love the same.
what do you have to your name?
blood, and pain, and shame and
a violence turned inwards. you
were not made for such brutality.
your hands are soft as rain. g
“did you know,”
she asks, sitting
beside me on the
sofa. the room is
sweltering, thick
like an ocean made
of air. a sea our
eyes can’t
see. summer
makes me feel like i
am breathing underwater,
like i'm suspended in
a world where hard hits
close in on me in gentle
waves, like i’m constantly
tumbling but i'll wash
up somewhere, eventually.
i do know. i don’t know
it yet, but this time
i'm landing with two feet
when the tide comes in.
(“did you know that today
was his birthday?”)
where my shoulder blade
was pinned
the fires melt my bones
to melded knobs
and i
breathe easy
now
you do not kill
a shifting thing
only give it new forms
in which to grow