Whatever I have, it is something else I want.

Cold nights these. I love the cold, until it is cold, then I crave the warmth. When the sun comes out like a drag queen on stage, I am praying for rain. Whatever I have, it is something else I want. And this is what unhappiness is made of. It is December. I wrap myself…

Almost Holy

The longing for you is almost holy. Warm you sleep; your eyelids closing are the night coming for me. Inescapable love of lives,  my lingering ache is the origami crane tucked in your breast. Doing undoing wills and possibilities: with each breath, life raises itself and with every exhale it returns. As it is with all…

Kermes

  Helen, you look like a new wound tonight. Your lips rubbed raw by one thirsty for your skin. Helen, the red you wear begs you for mercy. Your cloak of blood brings even the night to shame. I cannot speak the language that asks for you to take it in its mouth. I know…

Vulnerability is my superpower

Day One: Lately, I find myself gravitating towards the music of women, books written by women, the poetry of women, women-centred films, information about and by women. I find my world become calmer. Stronger. More inspired. Hope flowers.   Day Two: Do you remember reading that thing saying, “Do one thing every day that scares…

Postcards from Istanbul /9

“You are always my concern. Nothing has happened to me to make me suddenly think more intensely of you… you, beautiful things and gloomy things are spread over my fleeting days” – Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan May 1949 (unreceived letter) Mosaics are works of art comprising thousands of broken pieces. They are perfect symbols…

Postcards from Istanbul /8

“She was like a landscape you see from the train, and you want to stop just there.” – Graham Greene, ‘The Living Room”   What a difference a smile makes. How it shifts landscapes and ruins the topography of the heart. And how it does and undoes the shoelaces of our reserve, our restraint, and…

My body sends you letters

I miss you. From the rumble inside my gut I miss you. From the wince and gasping ache for your heat, I miss you. From between my tendons, from the twitch of my muscle, from the creak of my aging bones, I miss you. From the soft dark of my hot heart, the steady rise…

Postcards from Istanbul /6

“She inspired you, you loved her and sang of her; her task was done.” – Franz Liszt in a letter to Hector Berlioz, 1854   The give of a soft pear surrendering to my teeth. The burst of plum in my mouth; juice dribbling down my chin onto my helpless blue shirt. The tickle of…

Postcards from Istanbul /5

“Or give me back one shred from our hundreds  of days – a forgotten word, or look – that I might lie here counting  them, like sheep, waiting out the dark.” – Greg Johnson, Insomnia   Dear, sweet one. Gratitude today for the precious few moments I received to see you. Your face that I…

Postcards from Istanbul /3

“When I feel like being with her I almost prefer not being with her So as not to have to leave her afterwards.” – Fernando Pessoa My precious one, Today my heart has been with only you. I miss you more. All this beauty I see fades before the way your face glows in my…