branchofthevine - Hello Poetry

A hole was dug for me when I was 21 I happily died in it I helped dig it. Is this bliss? I think heartbreak exists within my chest Sometimes it emerges as bile It tastes like sugar and sea water Sometimes it is warm and thick on my tongue You bit off a budded magnolia for me at the branch You exposed the inner bark so it could drink up iced water

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Feb 19, 2022

Feb 19, 2022 at 5:49 PM UTC

branchofthevine

Somewhere cold and quiet

A hole was dug for me when I was 21 I happily died in it I helped dig it. Is this bliss? I think heartbreak exists within my chest Sometimes it emerges as bile It tastes like sugar and sea water Sometimes it is warm and thick on my tongue You bit off a budded magnolia for me at the branch You exposed the inner bark so it could drink up iced water

10

I know the weight of the afternoon, I said. It keeps you awake but I can sleep, it know it well. Is it the girl you see in me, her small thighs? Or the half woman, her madness? This project might keep me dead If I held your baby one day would you ask me who I was? Which part of her or him might show up wrong? Wouldn’t you want to know? Our lust is a beaten animal, How much work we put into it. It is balanced and contained by so many chemicals. All day I sink deeper into it, It becomes cold and dark, I am a stone. Cut your nails before you occupy me Don't expect ecstasy when I am ignored in daylight Ecstacy is to be seen That is a different project

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Jan 25, 2022

Jan 25, 2022 at 2:42 PM UTC

branchofthevine

Stamp

I know the weight of the afternoon, I said. It keeps you awake but I can sleep, it know it well. Is it the girl you see in me, her small thighs? Or the half woman, her madness? This project might keep me dead If I held your baby one day would you ask me who I was? Which part of her or him might show up wrong? Wouldn’t you want to know? Our lust is a beaten animal, How much work we put into it. It is balanced and contained by so many chemicals. All day I sink deeper into it, It becomes cold and dark, I am a stone. Cut your nails before you occupy me Don't expect ecstasy when I am ignored in daylight Ecstacy is to be seen That is a different project

16

I use more water now I scrub off the grease of this city before I leave A head trauma: soft and unsheltered You could spoon me out like cake, if you wanted to You could put your fist through my skull If you felt like it

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Oct 17, 2021

Oct 17, 2021 at 5:04 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Steam

I use more water now I scrub off the grease of this city before I leave A head trauma: soft and unsheltered You could spoon me out like cake, if you wanted to You could put your fist through my skull If you felt like it

6

Exhaustion is not the right word. Instead it is training your tears, sugar and bread Rising and dipping The syncing of an algorithm, you have cheated it. This is someone else! Beautiful and empty: a political, sensual housewife Curled like a shrimp: is this too much? You have a metal chest, lock and key on your wrist. You wake without an alarm, and hips click and throb from long walks and the weight of LOVE Its discovery of sickly clues that point toward the deathbed Girls with little red hearts, there are hundreds of them. You mimic their vanity, it is insincere. The plumping, powdering and stitching of a patchwork doll. You are homemade. Fear leaks into the dream state, you cannot speak Brainwashed girls are always looking for peace or violence. And you are not brainwashed. You stand with a camera lens, pigtails and hope. You chew discomfort and loneliness. You analyse when you are home. When you are home you can sleep.

0

Jan 30, 2021

Jan 30, 2021 at 8:46 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Fantasy

Exhaustion is not the right word. Instead it is training your tears, sugar and bread Rising and dipping The syncing of an algorithm, you have cheated it. This is someone else! Beautiful and empty: a political, sensual housewife Curled like a shrimp: is this too much? You have a metal chest, lock and key on your wrist. You wake without an alarm, and hips click and throb from long walks and the weight of LOVE Its discovery of sickly clues that point toward the deathbed Girls with little red hearts, there are hundreds of them. You mimic their vanity, it is insincere. The plumping, powdering and stitching of a patchwork doll. You are homemade. Fear leaks into the dream state, you cannot speak Brainwashed girls are always looking for peace or violence. And you are not brainwashed. You stand with a camera lens, pigtails and hope. You chew discomfort and loneliness. You analyse when you are home. When you are home you can sleep.

15

I remember hearing about fish hooks The bodies of animals between my hands Their gills and bones and the thump of a mouse's heart Petrified by the cat who cornered it into a stair I recall the grease underneath my fingernails when I iced their Christmas cakes Packed ground almonds into pan cases and filled them up with oranges and raisins Without a kiss unsaid A breast untethered from pink or white satin My questions are heavy and hot Eyes that stare while you sleep Suddenly, they are lilies Obscene, tired, temporary Suddenly they cannot see at all

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Dec 30, 2020

Dec 30, 2020 at 8:42 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Hooks

I remember hearing about fish hooks The bodies of animals between my hands Their gills and bones and the thump of a mouse's heart Petrified by the cat who cornered it into a stair I recall the grease underneath my fingernails when I iced their Christmas cakes Packed ground almonds into pan cases and filled them up with oranges and raisins Without a kiss unsaid A breast untethered from pink or white satin My questions are heavy and hot Eyes that stare while you sleep Suddenly, they are lilies Obscene, tired, temporary Suddenly they cannot see at all

13

Today and all days Little pieces Pearls and crumbs, memory and skin I hold onto structure: houses, breakfasts Or the earth and trees Let me be stretched and fixed Cracked, hit and smoothed by a heavy wind In love, when I come home he will be there Smothered by flour and butter and figs Maybe the gentleness and force I want are more interwoven than I first thought At a first glance Maybe I walk towards violence, darkness War

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Nov 3, 2020

Nov 3, 2020 at 4:01 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Butter

Today and all days Little pieces Pearls and crumbs, memory and skin I hold onto structure: houses, breakfasts Or the earth and trees Let me be stretched and fixed Cracked, hit and smoothed by a heavy wind In love, when I come home he will be there Smothered by flour and butter and figs Maybe the gentleness and force I want are more interwoven than I first thought At a first glance Maybe I walk towards violence, darkness War

13

To be more To swell and breathe it all out A nectarine Full of health and youth Who are you without your raspberry jam, sourdough, hair gel, the way you travel, your Sunday walks Without those you laugh with, without yourself: who you cry alone with Will you still be here if you were left with your apple core, two feet away from the edge, breeze and the sea salt

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Sep 11, 2020

Sep 11, 2020 at 10:52 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Harvest

To be more To swell and breathe it all out A nectarine Full of health and youth Who are you without your raspberry jam, sourdough, hair gel, the way you travel, your Sunday walks Without those you laugh with, without yourself: who you cry alone with Will you still be here if you were left with your apple core, two feet away from the edge, breeze and the sea salt

7

Prepare for thy God Under sheets of blue cotton you breathed back into me Something repetitive or grey Something fed with anxiety, the shakiness of a half drunk animal Your white skater shoes are left to think under the kitchen table all night Collecting the smell of the laundry, the fridge, the tea They step and trip all day, they are laced and undone They step over mine, and stain

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Sep 8, 2020

Sep 8, 2020 at 8:55 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Stain/sheep

Prepare for thy God Under sheets of blue cotton you breathed back into me Something repetitive or grey Something fed with anxiety, the shakiness of a half drunk animal Your white skater shoes are left to think under the kitchen table all night Collecting the smell of the laundry, the fridge, the tea They step and trip all day, they are laced and undone They step over mine, and stain

8

My mother called to say "In Germany they have a word for it: too heartbroken to carry on. I lost the house, the horses, the rolling hills. I lost the red kites flying overhead. I lost Patti Smith, Buffy and my prodigal daughters." Who curled up, curled into themselves, curled their hair Thought about running away, red boots in the mouth of open space, sleet and rain. But instead soaked it up like a bed of wet moss.

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Jul 23, 2020

Jul 23, 2020 at 4:16 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Moss

My mother called to say "In Germany they have a word for it: too heartbroken to carry on. I lost the house, the horses, the rolling hills. I lost the red kites flying overhead. I lost Patti Smith, Buffy and my prodigal daughters." Who curled up, curled into themselves, curled their hair Thought about running away, red boots in the mouth of open space, sleet and rain. But instead soaked it up like a bed of wet moss.

8

Those lemon trees that grew and withered, and grew all over again They watched you tread water, Swim out too far Kick step and float You wish for darker, warmer The mind and the stars, the sand and it's numbers You want to be backed into a corner Left and loved until you are sick Loved until you are no longer sick

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Jul 23, 2020

Jul 23, 2020 at 4:15 AM UTC

branchofthevine

Left

Those lemon trees that grew and withered, and grew all over again They watched you tread water, Swim out too far Kick step and float You wish for darker, warmer The mind and the stars, the sand and it's numbers You want to be backed into a corner Left and loved until you are sick Loved until you are no longer sick

9