marcella-barnesWhisper

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On the 14At 10:20pm on a Tuesday night / The number 14 bus is full / Bright, glistening, and fevered
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Driving in the Columbia River Gorge*Sacred Spaces come to exist / When breathless lovers / Look into one another
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Whole heartedBlack is the color of my “true” love’s hair. / His nose a beak, / His chin, and aspects of his character, weak.
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The Children I have DevliveredMy heart beat’s strong / A medallion, rat-ta-tat-tating tattoo / With the scent of voodoo in the air
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ReverseWe walk backwards through this life / thus seeing clearly in hindsight. / Here I drop your hand from mine
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Chunky GirlsThe chunk of heart I gave you was one of my favorites / It was muscled and strong / Youthful, oxygenated and proud
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CondensedWhat could have been clings to my skin / As would water dried with a sodden towel. / The air is cold, my body a certain shade of damp…
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EssentialThe tear emerged / Already falling / Down my face
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All that you areAll that you are is potential / And really, all that that is, is my willing suspension of disbelief / But I am the actress, not the audience
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ForfeitI dreamt you said I love you. / This was after I had ‘killed’ our test baby. / It was small, and fake,
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