Who

I am the lungs of the ground
Wrapped deep in the roots of history

I am the pavement
That everyone walks upon

I am your finger nails
Growing longer and thicker without notice

I am a word whispered
Quiet and not meant to be spoken aloud

I am a book by your bedside
My pages so woren out from love

I am the groan you breath out
In the morning as you wake up

I am a love poem
Who no eyes will meet

I am a growing child
Who is very much confused

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The clock strikes midnight and the only thing in the house is the thornless rose and me.

Flower girl,
you are my calypso
head deep in the wisdom
of nothing
send me reeling out to
see
the raw nature of a
thornless rose

 

clip all the storms
and place them on the kitchen table
arrange them in a bouquet
covered in green tissue paper
I’ll wait for the storms
to mature and wilt
but I keep gazing at the
foot trodden doorstep
waiting for my calypso.

 

 

 

koúkla mou

1.

One day someone will sing a lullaby
when counting sheep does not help
if lullabies don’t help you sleep
a cup of warm milk will be by your bedside

They’ll take pictures of the smiles
that form on your beautiful face
placing them safely in a book
bound in plastic, to last over the years

They’ll mend every broken heart and stubbed toe
placing a band-aid on whatever is hurt

2.

One day koúkla mou
You’ll exist

Pocketing Memories With Pieces of Lint

An implicative memory hangs limply on a coat hanger
Wrap it around my shoulders and move on
I forget it’s there until I remember
When no other words are processing,
I remember.

Compose myself with sips of water
and splashes of reality
Then go back to the class and settle down

Lint balls collect and I pick them off
Feeling guilty for losing the little bits left of you
I pocket them,
and they begin to collect
like the congealing memories

I feel guilty about you becoming a memory
You should be more than pieces of lint
collecting in my pocket

I wrap myself up in the smells of every memory
that I will not let fade away

and all I have is the vague smell of home and
lint balls that remind me of you

Passing Break and Shallow Breath

Together they take a breath
The air flows through, but she
chokes and gasps, her breath is shallow.
Can the air be any less bitter?
“Are you okay?” he
mentions in their passing break

They only see one another on their break
She wondered if he held his breath
when they pass each other, he
did. In the fleeting hope she
would become a lesser version of bitter

But that’s a lie, she wasn’t shallow,
just needed to have a bread
from himself. The wind was bitter
against the open lungs “take a breath
and exhale yourself into me” she
sighed. She looked so bright he

was blinded by her. Did he
believe himself to be shallow?
The world they live in she
felt a harmful way of a break
They both need to take a deep breath
and exhale their feelings of bitterness

Their facades have melted into their bitter
truth. “What is the truth?” he
asked. The world is softly taking it’s breath
together they will live in it’s shallow
lungs and swim in it’s bones, break
apart and sink deep down. She

will drown otherwise. With that she
will becomes and stay bitter
There isn’t the time for their break
The world is empty and he
is trying to be not as shallow
when he passes her, he holds his breath

She will break and collapse
under his bitter breath, loves
the shallow intake he provides.