I wish I were
your favourite scar

The one that you
enjoy telling stories about
as you run your fingers across

Like a prized possession
you got by accident


*AA

I want to drown
in your sea.

I clench the satin tablecloth in my hand.
A slow drone of smooth jazz echoes in the distance.
The fluttering wisps of cigarette smoke waft to the ceiling as my husband steps into the parlour in his tar black overcoat.
"What took you so long?" I ask concernedly.
He just nodded, gave me a lazy grin
and ordered us two gins.

Mommy, I hurt.

Honey, I don't see any bruises...

It's my heart,** Mommy.

I have that indominable  **spirit.

Let your children go explore.
School does not teach a kid nearly as
much as a romp through the woods
or a foreign exchange.
Meeting new people and finding inner peace must become priorities in life if you want your kids to be happy.
Try telling that to them while giving them worksheets.
Open their minds.
First and foremost, give them some
autonomy to roam.
This will ultimately make them happy.

Lovers whisper-laughing,
stumbling home in the rain.
O, to be so drunk again.

r ~ 5/3/14

drying my eyes with the crumpled plane tickets
that brought me here
as the new ones slowly print, inch by inch
and the ink dries upon my cheeks
and the time has been tattooed into my eyelids
ticking away, ticking closer and closer
to the end

closing my ears to the sound of cars
passing by on an open road
as the sound of wheels on concrete presses
into my memory and suddenly
i am in a taxi, speeding towards the last drop
of this city, and part of me is left behind
among the crashing water of spring
and the wood chips of an abandoned playground
and the puddles that we avoided as we ran
uncontrollably down the street
laughing

i am not laughing now, except to appear
alive as the boy who makes my coffee
makes me a joke too, free of charge
and i don’t want him or anyone to worry about me
so my mouth opens a crack, and my eyes fold inwards
and he smiles, placing my drink on the counter
and i burn my tongue trying to drown
that fake laugh

the tickets are done printing
the zipper has been forced
over the gaps between my fingers
where your hand should be
and the puzzle wavers as i pack it, but
the pieces stay together, at least until
i close the suitcase
and somehow, i am confident
that it will remain intact

i crumple the tickets in my hand
in an effort to make them look old
as if the summer had already passed
and i was on my way back to fill my empty palm
with warm skin, soft words and a hard press
of my mouth to the sound of something akin to home

i can feel the push and pull of two places
that have shaped me and are shaping me still
as my body curves around the ribs
and hips of a new kind of comfort
and the stiff seat in this airplane
reminds me that i am never as comfortable
as when i am with you

and i resign myself to sunny months
and warm music
and the discomfort of a puzzle
that is trying its hardest
to stay together

and i resign myself to dipping my toes in the water each night
pulling out the glue from between them
and keeping the pieces together
pressing my hand into the soft wood of the dock
in an effort to shut out the cold air

and i resign myself to the confidence i feel
knowing time will be on my side
when i need it to be

i throw the old tickets in the trash
and slip the new ones inside my passport
ready
to keep myself together

sometimes i wonder
if the world i live in
is one i made up in my head
that exists only for me

and if that’s true
i don’t mind
because the world i’ve created
is filled with madness
but the best madness i’ve created for myself
is you