If you are looking for a sign, this is not a sign.

This is an emergency. Moments of startling clarity and then, nothing. Days spent with you a fog in my brain. My mouth full of sounds that mean nothing in a room where silence reigns. I am collecting words like memories because my words and I, we don’t speak anymore. You’re no longer here and there…

Burying

Thunder in my chest Earth under my nails I dig a grave For my own heart

Saltwater lover

You are saltwater Tears, sting, and ocean spray My perfect thirst.

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…