here we are, honey
we’re in westfield again
where the wind mercilessly
fills us with bark, with salt.

here, where the ice stabs
my digging fingers
unearthing the sea’s collection of trinkets
she’s saved since last february,
pleading that i come and find them.
they’re aching to be seen.

she’d forgotten about this one,
this teeny terracotta she offered
without knowing its home.
my indigo cutie is one of her favorites
for which she’s been searching fiercely.
i throw that one back to her
for safekeeping.

can’t wait to get back inside to you, baby.
wait for me,
keep warm.
i want to feel it.

I don't know if you love me anymore.
you fell from me
when the leaves fell.
I held onto you and cried,
waiting for the spring
to grant our revival,
yawning and stretching
after our long rest,
weaving new roots,
nourished by the heavy rains,
but spring is not your season.

please never stop raining.
stay over me,
be around me
as I ache for water,
sweet water,
in cool droplets
on my cracked skin
then,
my sandpaper veins.
my eyes are upturned
and my lips parted for you.
please never stop raining.

the sky is gray, and I see nothing
through the veil of clouds
until a crack of pink lightning
shows me the plane passing overhead.
my mind sees a woman onboard,
red-lipped and immaculate,
sipping wine as she flies through the storm.
she has a date somewhere in a ballroom tonight,
while a deep blue overtakes the gray.
she passes over me, and we are elated
in streams of our own.

Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me

the stubborn string of pearls
perched on my windowsill
browns and shrivels,
then drinks to drowning,
but never does it quite give up.

i have to stay,
for it will surely
be waiting for me
tomorrow.

once more around the sun,
though i'd hardly know it.

my houseplants are leafier,
my waist has swelled,
& i still cry at the sky.

still me, then.