I come back to sit at the kitchen window.
From there, nothing changes.
The curtains whiten in the sunlight.
The fruit trees dream in the still air.
The dog’s bark rings to a rhythm
That beats on the pane and falls away.
The glass bluebird on the windowsill
Projects a tiny swimming pool on the white wall.
The grass grows longer, or shorter, or not at all.
Two young girls try to ride the dog, who’s getting old.
The old woman claps her hands,
Then reaches on tiptoes for an apricot.
His bald spot sunburned, his house slippers muddy,
The old man points to me and laughs.
I tap on the window. They look away.
They know I’m watching.
The sun stays high and warm.
It flashes off the old man’s glasses,
Giving birth to the same old light.
Perhaps not changing is their way
Of sending for me.
Perhaps this is why I left.
So they would always be here.
As the Mohawks straddle the goal line
We hold our breaths.
We need a win under our belts,
And this is the most important game of all.
I feel the tension in my stomach,
Now in my hand,
As you take it into yours.
Normally I would be thinking of you
But we are so focused on this touchdown
"Hike!" Shouts number 7, and there it goes.
Caught by 22.
But not quite.
We go wild.
Mohawk fans cheering
You grab me in a huge embrace and
I can't breathe
But its not because you're holding me too tightly.
Thought of consequence
Thought of the future
Thought of pain
Thought of who is watching,
You kiss me right there and then
And even though your eyes are closed
I still see the blue in my mind from moments before,
Letting me know that it is okay to dive in.
As the cheering roar dies out
I see that blue again
Confused and happy
Or is that me?
On this homecoming night
And I'm not talking about the team.
Passive remarks about being human
Fervor flushed faces
Brushed breath on the waist of a new night dress
Wisps of warm vapor
Soft whispers floating through a full moon
Tangled forest of brunette hair
Morning honey dew pulled from atmosphere to earth,
From anxious fear to the air in a pair of lungs
Breathing deeply grasping for butterflies
Catching control of nerves
Lit up by lightning bugs in a stomach
Struck sharp quiet the silence
Stuck in place
The second his lips
Touched your face
I am building
Building a home
Return here after
After you've roamed
And back into
Into my arms.
I am building
Building a life
A getaway from
From your strife
To make what's
What's wrong right
I am building
Building a family
A place for you
You and me
Where we may live
Life life freely.
i slipped the silk fabric over the curve of my hip and the scarred flesh of my thigh in a dressing room with three of my friends behind me, sucking in the fat of my stomach. they say black is supposed to be slimming but it only made me bloated; maybe the mirror was a liar (i know it didn't lie). an elephant with too-thick eyeliner and a too-thick body stared back at me and i bit through the skin of my lip till it bled and i wanted to live on some other planet where elephants were appreciated.
"that's the best one you've tried on yet," someone said, but i couldn't hear them over the red-eyed demon within me which whispered of shoving two fingers down the trachea, messy but quick, everything gone in an instant. if this was my best one, i was doomed because my eyes were glazed over with the misunderstanding that beauty would never apply to me.
"i'm just gonna go- go to the restroom-" and the red eyed thing inside me cracks its whip, takes over the nerves in my brain, makes my legs sprint to the toilets and it's over, it's done, the food gone among stomach acid, falling hair, and teeth erosion.
i can only imagine what the restaurant worker who was forced to clean rainbow-coloured vomit in the toilet thought.