#nickcave
I
Stacked green crates by the futon,
records sealed as buried letters,
each sleeve longing
to be drawn out into daylight
by her small, thoughtful hands.
I just want to play that Nick Cave again
teenager’s resolve in her voice,
she drops the needle on "Tupelo",
traces Peter Murphy with her thumb,
holds Kate Bush to the light
like stained glass.
She laughs
at the ****** box on the speaker.
I tell her it’s never going to happen.
She grins, unbothered,
says she only came for the vinyl.
I watch her tilt each sleeve,
never touching the grooves,
brush the dust,
lay the needle like a secret,
slide the disc back without a wrinkle.
Each time I’m surprised
by her precision.
It’s the third time
she’s dropped by.
She makes mixtapes.
Pressing pause,
pressing record,
stitching songs
into a spine of hiss.
Once, to me, or to herself,
she said her father wanted a tape.
She’d mail it when
he had somewhere to send it.
She follows me across the bridge,
talking about her brother,
an ex-best friend,
mimicking her professor,
how he wags his tongue
when he writes on the chalkboard.
I haul a duffel:
apron, uniform, boots heavy with grease.
She skips in the rain,
strumming cables, humming
the last song played, still in the air.
II
I unlock the door,
steeped in garlic and kitchen sweat,
boots leaving grime on the boards.
She isn’t there-
only the crates, stacked neater,
jackets squared, spines aligned,
as if her care was meant for me.
The room settles with her absence,
yet holds me upright
in its small, thoughtful hands.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
For Nick Cave
I have been told that frozen hearts cannot love
I have taught that frozen hearts cannot be melted
Inside there is only a muscle
not moved by emotions
A muscle cannot not recognize love
Is tight and tense
Protecting the owner from unknown dangers
Subtly induced by affection and tenderness
It must remain untouched and hard
For all frozen hearts are damaged.
You had a bad teacher, she said
A really bad teacher
For learning you only to avoid life with steel stillness
Unknowgly condemning you to remain a prisoner
In an open and vast prison, where there is no aliveness
This sterile landscape of nothingness
Where all frozen hearts are damaged.
You had a really bad teacher, my darling,
She said
for all frozen hearts are damaged and broken
In pieces that hurt
And carry their pain inside your tight muscle
Maybe love is an illusion, my darling,
But it is the most beautiful at all.
All frozen hearts are damaged, my darling
And yours is the most frozen of all.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC