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Gaby Comprés Oct 2019
you say, tangling up the three words in one breath.
i love you more, i tell you.
no, iloveyoumore, you say.
i love you more than bees love flowers, i say,
and you tell me that bees love pollen
and that youlovememore.
but i love you,
more than bees love flowers and yes, pollen
and i love you more than birds love to sing
more than wishes love stars
more than dreams love sleep
i love you more
than grass loves rain
and rain loves the earth
and the earth loves trees
and the trees love the wind.
i love you more
than sunflowers love sun,
more than the sun loves the sky,
more than the sky loves blue,
more than blue loves the sea.
i love you
ilove you
iloveyou like youloveme.
Gaby Comprés May 2019
i want everything ahead of me
one day to be behind me
am i asking for too much?
if so, then—
i don’t want to leave
having not seen every beautiful thing
let me see
the jacaranda
the Maine sky one more time
the bougainvillea my mother planted for me bloom violet
i want my feet to know their home
i want fear to become a stranger
am i still asking for too much?
if so, then—
i do not want to wonder whether i was loved
i want the poems i leave behind
(my life)
to mean something
every day i have left
let me soak it in gratitude
give me more words than what i can say
more stars than what i can see
if i cannot ask for more time
more heartbeats
more life
give me then
more sun
more rain
more laughter
more poetry
more possibilities
is this still too much?
give me then
just more
let me say these words
i am full (of life) i cannot have anymore
Gaby Comprés Mar 2019
sometimes it rains,
and if you’re quiet,
you can hear the trees give thanks.
sometimes the children laugh,
and everything is yellow.
sometimes a friend writes you a poem,
sometimes you wake up and there is already coffee waiting for you,
& the words ‘thank you’
are the first to touch your lips.
this is how joy shows up in the heart,
an unexpected guest,
but welcome nonetheless.
Gaby Comprés Jan 2019
poems are raining down from the ceiling.
poems are crawling in from the windows.
the garden is blooming poems.
it is also a poem.
this house is mostly poems.
the yellow dog in the yellow house is barking poems.
the girl who lives down the street is a poem
and she speaks to the neighbor in poems.
me, watching them from my window, is a poem
and all the words i want to tell them are made of poems.
her brother rides a bicycle poem
and the laughter he leaves behind is a poem.
the man who walks by smiles a poem.
more children come, dressed in poems
and they begin to play, which is my favorite poem.
the sun sets, like a poem
and the darkness that comes is a poem.
nobody goes home, and this too is a poem.
the crickets begin to sing, which is a kind of poem.
today is all poems.
the lamppost is shining poems,
the light is a poem,
the cold coffee is a poem,
this window is a poem,
and the night that holds all of this is a poem.
oh, i never want to leave.
written after ‘orchids are sprouting from the floorboards’ by Kaveh Akbar.
Gaby Comprés Jan 2019
let the word
sit for a bit
on your tongue
until the taste is sweet
you are this,
soft girl.
look at the poems that have made a
bird’s nest out of you
a home
look at the light
how yellow loves to be on your skin
there are stars in you
be (hold) your beauty
Gaby Comprés Dec 2018
i wonder
what will be the cause of heartbreak?
what will make you leave?
will i make you leave?
who will leave?
i know
one of us will.
i already know
i will
not save anything for myself
(i know i should)
but i will not
i will
not even try.
i will
give you everything—
my heart, my bones, my time,
my shoulders and hands and collarbone
and all of my firsts.
i will
write you poems, tuck them in your hair
i will
whisper you my love in the night.
i wonder
about your eyes
how will they see me?
what color are they?
what will it take from me to make them dance?
i know
i will love you long after you’re gone
ours will be the story
i will tell my children
i know
i will forgive you and let you go,
remember you more times than i should,
write you poems you will never read.
written after reading Rebecca Hazelton’s ‘you are the penultimate love of my life’.
Gaby Comprés Dec 2018
m a y b e
may be
may (i) be
i (may) be
may i (be) May
(May): spr(i)ng and flowers and bees
be (sweet)
be (here)

may i just be
may there always be room for me
between may and be.
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