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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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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VoicemailA single pane of glass and half-drawn shades separated me from my maker tonight. / I know I should have called sooner but it's late and I knew you’d be asleep. / I was upset because you ate all the bread and I was left with the two end pieces that are really only saved to crumble and throw at the ducks in the pond.

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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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This life is not a Disney movieThis life is not a Disney movie. / The beast will never turn into a charming prince. / This is not a romance movie (you know I despise them so).

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Red Rover, Red RoverI am dreaming of time, / of simplicity and nursery rhymes. / Time is my storybook

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CremationIn my lifetime, / I’ve loved so many pages. / But I love this page.

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Hurricane Ike“What of ‘The Bullet’?” / I ask my mother, / “is it underwater

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Climbing out of the rabbit holeHe is the kind of guy that makes you go crazy. / Like a glimpse through the looking glass into a strangle world / with a Chesire Cat.

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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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