1/25/2017
the sky melted, sweating glass
for three days straight-
once, we marveled at the inexorable and eventual
at
the drop that makes the bough
bow.
i remember the ache
of the sunlight on my
crooked nape
one May day . We sit in a January cafe
"It is springtime," she announces
except these days, it's no emotional pantomime, not a hopeless mantra
"and why?" I beg a question
"oh, because something's starting"
she mixes milk into her honey
it is too sweet for me
the umbrella opens in the shop
"put that away, it's a bad omen" oh, as if I care
imagine me so treacly?
she talks about pregnancy and politics
about marriage
and something in me,
i realize
wants to be, is disgusted by my far future maternity
at the supermarket
there's a jingle
hey, mom, what's for dinner?
"Uh, hey, I feel like Plath... marriage is oppression and all that"
"Well, join the club. Oh, domesticity-"
"O'Hara said : There is only one man I like to kiss,"
I misquote, intentionally.
"*Heterosexuality!
you are inexorably approaching!*"
perhaps we can't wait
to be thirty and bored
with three kids
watching them play at the Minetta
wondering where the hell our time went
and there they'll sit
polish- to her irish, italian- to my puerto rican
new jersey mutts
i laugh
thinking of drunk days down on
53rd and Lex
we're not ready to live like it's 1953
*oh, johnny promised me
and i wear his
ring*
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
1/25/2017
the sky melted, sweating glass
for three days straight-
once, we marveled at the inexorable and eventual
at
the drop that makes the bough
bow.
i remember the ache
of the sunlight on my
crooked nape
one May day . We sit in a January cafe
"It is springtime," she announces
except these days, it's no emotional pantomime, not a hopeless mantra
"and why?" I beg a question
"oh, because something's starting"
she mixes milk into her honey
it is too sweet for me
the umbrella opens in the shop
"put that away, it's a bad omen" oh, as if I care
imagine me so treacly?
she talks about pregnancy and politics
about marriage
and something in me,
i realize
wants to be, is disgusted by my far future maternity
at the supermarket
there's a jingle
hey, mom, what's for dinner?
"Uh, hey, I feel like Plath... marriage is oppression and all that"
"Well, join the club. Oh, domesticity-"
"O'Hara said : There is only one man I like to kiss,"
I misquote, intentionally.
"*Heterosexuality!
you are inexorably approaching!*"
perhaps we can't wait
to be thirty and bored
with three kids
watching them play at the Minetta
wondering where the hell our time went
and there they'll sit
polish- to her irish, italian- to my puerto rican
new jersey mutts
i laugh
thinking of drunk days down on
53rd and Lex
we're not ready to live like it's 1953
*oh, johnny promised me
and i wear his
ring*