Let her have roses

More than anything tonight I want to give you roses. But not another’s words or laments. Not another’s passion. My own. To pluck a seed from my chest and bury it into the black fecund earth and wait for love to take root. I would lay with my belly flush against this soil and whisper…

December is for letting go

I still carry her last words. “Look after yourself.” In my broken brain, it sounded like, “I’m not going to.”

Loser

Living offline Mornings crack open my back Separation is a violence – I own a heart with a hole punched through The intimacy of loss – I am in bed with ghosts Forty days a requiem I am disappearing I am then I am not Here unpicking stitches Then untying knots of our years And…

So lovely you make my teeth hurt

Today I saw photographs of you I’d forgotten about. And the breath I took in was taken back out; returned. My stomach sank and touched my toes. My mouth went from rainforest to desert. You make everything ordinary almost too beautiful to bear. When I remember you, you are not a photograph. I’m not thinking…

A Journal of Undoing – Four

For so long I have been in the possession of something that aches to be broken wide open and set free from longing. I will take anything – an affair, a distraction, a broken arm, an appendectomy. Heartache; anything that provides release from the embers of loving someone who needs nothing; least of all you….

A god of one’s own

I wanted a god of my own We would be, my god and I, impeccable in our fallibility I wanted a god who rode bicycles and cooked breakfast Burnt her fingers and held them to my lips A god who came home late waking me with her perfume Reaching for me in the fumbling dark…

My.

My constellation My launch pad of a thousand ships – your beauty is alchemy My belly is dough My breath is leaving me My knees betray

You return at impossible times

  The memory of you remains an ever-fixed mark on all I see. The image of your face recalls itself with delicately woven fibers, patterning the windows in my house and the frozen glimpses in hallways, pathways, byways.  I cannot look at my own face in the mirror without seeing your fingerprints stamped upon my neck. Tiny…

One year of without

  There are some nights that the thought of you or even your name do not leave the sleeve of my shirt alone. It pulls like a kitten. Tonight is like that. I no longer question if it is you trying to reach me, to communicate. I am flooded with desire to see you. To…