natalie-janeWhisper

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A letter for you (and, of course, for me, too)**A LETTER FOR YOU (AND, OF COURSE, FOR ME, TOO):** / It smells like my grandmother's house in here. / Like lazy Saturdays, of dripping sweat, of climbing trees, of building Lincoln Log houses for ants or Deathstars of Legos but I spread my legs and that smell of--regret is not the word, nor is shame--I feel neither--but of came, of stale, cold air and stiff comforters on top a bed at the Best Western--A living proof of how you've changed. After you finish and inhale and burst your exhausted, satisfied breath, I sweetly kiss you--your neck, your jawline, your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids. You hold us in and sleep as if a few drinks are enough to forgive. I tell you to slow down because you owe me about 5 years to make up for lost time. You slip your tongue down as if I had not broken your heart. But a man learns, and that's our biggest difference--man and woman, you and I--you've grown cold and moved on to content loneliness and betterness than to give a girl who's hurt you a second chance.
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Jul 22, 2013
Your poetic socksWhen you said you didn't like my poem you added, / "Now you know how I feel when I show someone my socks." / But do your wear your socks like I wear my soul?
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Jun 27, 2013
Sleep in heavenly peace*For Dr. Harry Braeuer* / The day is mercifully warm when we come to visit you on Christmas. / All is calm o’er the city by the gulf; the salt in the air is sweetly gleaming.
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Jun 27, 2013
Kerouac's catI am no Jack Kerouac, but I do share his reincarnated cat. I wish to be on the road, but I do not have it in me to leave her alone. And she’s such a bitch during long car rides. But, I can watch her on catnip instead and see her colorful journey along those alleyways and back stages and watch her meet those saturated characters so she’ll come back down to write a book about how those American roads changed her life. And until she dies, snuggled up in my arms, fur on my pajamas, she’ll say, Oh fuck yeah, that was the life! / Or rather, / meow.
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Jun 27, 2013
What it feels like in wordsI miss you so much. / I miss the way the skin of your back felt when I scratched it. / I miss the way you made me feel,
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Jun 27, 2013
Hurricane Ike“What of ‘The Bullet’?” / I ask my mother, / “is it underwater
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Jun 27, 2013
Elegy for patient justice*For America / For Bin Laden / and for Jonathan C. Franco...you’re welcome.*
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Jun 27, 2013
Daily exercisesMy grandmother sits. / She stares out at nothing / the way she did on the day my grandpa died.
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Jun 27, 2013
CremationIn my lifetime, / I’ve loved so many pages. / But I love this page.
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Jun 27, 2013
The horror of foolsI left the glass you drank out of / right where you set it down. / I don't want to touch it
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Jun 27, 2013
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