because this strategy of lighting myself on fire
to get your attention resulted in varying amounts
of burns all over my body. i theorized that maybe,
if you stared at the sun, then you would go blind
to my deformities. witches like me wouldn't have
to be burned at the stake for your comfort. maybe
instead of me, you would jump head first into the
fire and take a few polaroids of what hell looks like
for me and pin it up on your wall next to the picture
of us. make a collage of things that are dead and use
those few polaroids, and maybe you'll understand.

- kra

I remember the honeymoon stage,
it wasn't as elaborate as many,
but I was enjoying it just as much.

I remember making plans,
asking you to come and hang out with friends,
and you said the weekends were for partying;
I remember our first argument.

"When the liquor calls, I follow."

You answer to the inaudible calling of liquor,
but barely respond to my texts,

and then you tell me I'm crazy
for saying you could never love me
the way you love the single life.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

Yochana lay on her bed.

Her mother was downstairs
preparing evening dinner.

The boy at school questioning
began as soon as she got home
from school. Did he look
at you today? Did he show
interest in you? I can always
ask your friend, Angela?

Her mother's questions rained  
down on her as soon as she
entered the door. No he didn't,
Yochana lied, not at all; he
ignored me; he's like that,
she added to add credence
to her reply. She watched
her mother's features. Does
she believe me? The eyes
scrutinised her, peering eyes,
like those of a sparrow hawk.

Yochana wasn't sure if her lying
had gone over. Angela hadn't
been around when she had
seen the boy Benedict that day,
but she couldn't be sure if her
friend had seen or not. If I
find out that you have been
lying, my girl, you will regret it,
her mother had said as Yochana
climbed the stairs to her room
to change out of her uniform.

At lunch time she'd met him
as she promised she would.

Angela had gone home with
women's problems so she had
no fear of a spy. She could hear
her mother downstairs banging
around in the kitchen preparing
dinner, moody, wondering if her
daughter had lied or told the
truth about the boy. She lay there
on the bed. The boy Benedict
there inside her head. The kiss
of cheek and hand, and then lunch
time, she had allowed him to kiss
her again. Lips to lips. How had she?
Not sure if she had or had she?
She had just the once kiss on the lips.

Behind the maths block, briefly.

Lips to lips. Once. She sensed
his lips there still. As if frozen there.

If I find out you have lied, her
mother had said, you will...regrets...

The slaps of the other evening
stung her hand. But what if she
found out I lied? Closing her eyes
she saw him still. Lips and lips.

Felt still. Wet and warm. Later
that evening Schubert songs had
been sung, her mother singing,
Yochana played piano. The slaps
on hands and thighs had stung.

Le ciel est gris
La pluie s'écoule
Je marche et je marche
Insensible à tout

L'harmonie des bruits routiniers
Doucement fond en arrière-plan
Pour mettre en avant
Mes angoisses si troublantes

Il semblerait
Que ma vie a bousculé de travers
Suis-je tombée de l'autre côté du miroir?

C'est alors que ces pensées
Descendirent vers mon cœur
Qui serra de douleur

Je laissa finalement mes larmes couler
Au rythme de la pluie
Comme mon cœur bat
Au tempo de mes pas

I'll give you fifty shades of Love
In many brilliant hues

The beauty of a love,
Which is honest and true

My love is unfettered
It has no need to be bound

It reaches through the mind
Until the heart is found