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

Aftertaste of Shame: When Will They Stop the Blame?

A rush comes with anger
With the aftertaste of shame.
I didn’t think this would ever happen to me
And I am not to blame

With the aftertaste of shame
I cover my body, to feel safe
And I am not to blame
Empty streets and long walks home

I cover my body to feel safe
When will they realize I was sober
Empty streets and long walks home
We must remember, we will always remember

When will they realize I was sober
They say I am at fault, but how?
We must remember, we will always remember
We need to take action now.

They say I am at fault, but how?
This shouldn’t happen to anyone
We need to take action now
A rush comes with anger