Don't think about the girls
you saw on the street today
and how much more beautiful
they increasingly seemed to be
compared to you.
You are not an item comparable to another
you have not been fashioned as a commodity
you are nature, and nature does not produce perfect organisms
though they may seem to be.

Don't think about the boys
who do not look at you and
do not talk to you. So, no one
has shown interest in you for a while.
This is good news, you do not need a single soul
to feel whole. Twenty years and counting
not one of them have made you feel anything.
You can last a little while longer,
soon you may experience love.

Don't think about how messy
you feel and are. One day you will
learn to pick up all the pieces off the floor
and clarity will rush in again.
Till then leave your clothes on the bed,
but don't fret over school and your future.
Remember to live and be free
after all you are an animal

Don't think about how ****** the world seems.
Do not let negativity fill you and ******* you
into middle age, becoming bitter.
You will hate what you become.
This is not who you were meant to be.
You are a radiant being, let yourself be
filled with light and positivity.

You're not eating properly
Eliane's mother said
you've hardly eaten a thing
Elaine who'd been thinking

of the boy John
looked up
through her glasses

at her mother
at the dining table
got to eat
her father interjected

got to eat
my young Plump Hen
her sister said nothing

but grinned
I do eat
Elaine said
but she didn't feel

like eating
it seemed the least
important thing

at that moment
her stomach felt
as if it had fallen
into a slumber

not enough
her mother said
maybe she's fallen in love

her father bantered
Elaine went red
and lowered her head
and began to nibble

at the food on her plate
nonsense
her mother said

it's some silly
slimming diet
I bet
not very successful

if it is
her younger sister said smiling
John had touched her arm

in passing at school
not by accident
but by design
he meant to touch

to bring her briefly
into his world
his circumference

she still touched
now and then
the area on her arm
he touched (at school)

with her fingers
I won't have you dieting
over some silly fad

her mother went on
but Elaine ceased listening
the words were buzzing flies
she wanted to

flick them away
with a hand
John had talked to her

not at her
or about her
(as others did)
or down to her

but with her
in a duel thing
he and she

kind of exchange
she ate slowly
the food almost
making her gag

getting stuck
in the throat
she held onto

the image of him
in her mind tried
to focus
on his outline

on his features
his words
taking each one

she could remember
and turning it over
in her mind
as if it were

a rare gem
girls your age
what are you now?

14 yes 14years old
ought not to diet
her mother said
breaking into Elaine's head

if I see you not eating again
I'm taking to the doctors
Elaine looked up

and put on
her good daughter face
that I'll do
whatever you want features

and John had placed
a hand by her head
at the school fence

his arm brushing softly
against her hair
and he never said anything
unkind about

her dark hair
or the metal grips
her mother made her wear

and her mother rattled on
but Elaine just returned
her innocent girl
stare.

your eyes
resigned and dark
like they've never seen a minute of sleep
(i mean this in the best way)
sometimes i catch myself staring and look away
because i am afraid that
if i gaze for too long
i'll never be able to stop
(please don't be offended)
and your tired voice
as though you feel you have to speak softly
or it will shatter this fragile thing
between us
sometimes i don't understand your murmurs
but they're beautiful all the same
and i don't ask you to repeat yourself
because i don't want you to think
you should ever speak louder
you are
the kind of sleepy   
i wouldn't mind listening to
(or looking at)
(or kissing)
for the rest of forever
your eyes say 'let me sleep'
and the timbre of your voice
replies 'if only i could'
but your words persist
fueled only by
your unrelenting interest
in
me

In the worst hour of the worst season
    of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking-they were both walking-north.

She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
    He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and north.
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.

In the morning they were both found dead.
    Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.
But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
    There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:

Their death together in the winter of 1847.
    Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and a woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.