i find i don’t cry often

and when I do

my ancestors cry with me.

i weep with so many memories



like i’ve finally learned all the reasons why

i want to write to all my lovers;



my old ones who molded me
my old ones who held my body
as if it were an emerald.


there was something you all saw in me that i’m looking for now.
there was something so grand about me then,
so intense and open,
where i’d blossom at everything.
when i was a true woman
and i knew everything about me.

i wanted to share myself with all of you.



from you I learned how to move.
I learned security in ***
I learned of not begging for forgiveness,
but only of being.


from you I learned not to rush.
i’d slow down with you
we’d listen to music and
sit together on my balcony with a cigarette.


from you I learned to not be so conncected
i learned intensity and friendship
and that detaching
is healthy
    sometimes.


from you I learned to be with someone different.
i left you wild for me
you liked me too much.
im sorry.


from you I learned to follow my instincts
to devour and to consume
to dance and kiss
we were so similar


from you, again, i learned about a stable heart. you were so determined. you were so close to being the one.



thank you thank you thank you for guiding me.

let me touch all of you
slowly
until you’re mine.
until i can touch your back like i want to,
and your hair
and your ears
and your jaw
and your lips
slowly I’ll get to know you again.

how you move;
alone,
and with me.

i called to you from across the river
through the fog while you were catching
salmon.

i have always called to you

but you were a ghost;
A constant memory
That molded me.

You were always a good one
but it was hard for me to find
And I searched in the creeks and the valleys
And the mountains and the pines
And under the moon
And under your palms
And into your heart and through your eyes


and when by the river I found you.

my voice broke and echoed
over the mounds,
over the rush of the river
And on through the whistle of the tall grass,

And always

              you stayed just a ghost to me. Ive worked so hard to find you. Come back to me.

i paint the kitchen just so i can see it again.


i wonder if the lemons on her branches still grow.
and what happened to the dust from the rooms below,
they used to be so empty.


they only held
the beds and dressers
and i can't help
but wonder if those were even real,
and what did they once hold of the
sisters and daughters,
and son.


i know the bed frame was hollow
and you'd hide jewels in there,
of all the stories i've been told.



i know how the kitchen wore herself
how pretty she sat against the white
stuccoed wall.
how the window framed itself so that the kitchen shone,
through the branches of the lemon tree, at dusk.
black shutters, an eggshell blue enamel sink, a terrace with cast iron railings,
the terrazzo floors.



in our summers there we'd lay out a mattress and sleep outside with the mosquitos
in the mornings, we’d rise just in time to watch the sun creep over the church on the horizon.


its the saddest magic i've ever known.

time; can you hold slowly for me,
i find that i can't unravel myself
these days.


all i can think of is my old home by the river,
on the stone-lined hill
by the church


(i've spent three years here with you,
from that first breath and then dive right in to you.
but i was not ready, and it never felt the same)

and i only crave a time when i savoured everything.
a slow time
alone
in my old apartment.
with her wood floors
and high ceilings
and a window that opened like a guillotine
onto the balcony
with my white cast iron furniture
where the rain would collect
and the sun would hit me in the morning,
and i'd wake to it.
and september would be my favourite month,
because of the leaves, not because of your birthday.
and coffee would be my ritual
and i didn't have tv
and i had my records
and places for things
and my plants would sit by my window
and i'd draw there
and sing
and cook
i wouldn't order food, i'd walk to the grocers
i'd work out in my living room
watch movies on my terribly old tv, on a dvd player
i'd watch tv shows on repeat
and i loved it


and i was alone.
and i loved it.

your beast emerged so fluidly
your rage
your rage was green
until i would bend for you
until you turned me so hollow.

slowly you carved at me with
an olive spoon
a smooth edge over my smooth body
how could you
slowly   etch   me   out   like   that
/
your incapable beast devoured only my flesh


oh my god. i emerged from my own freedom