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Irene Sep 20
Bugbitten and peeling, red skin,
wrinkled clothes stuffed in suitcases,
drinking from garden faucets and
running through your neighbor’s sprinklers.

A heat that cooks you from the inside,
leaves you all decay
lying beneath a lazy,
buzzing ceiling fan.

In the warm stillness
a ray of sun catches the dust
spinning, falling slowly.

Hopscotch. Doubledutch. Chalked pink fingers.

I wish I remembered more.
The dust as it falls in the darkness.
The dust just before it hits the ground.

Hazy desert skies,
forlorn orange, teal and starless,
every cloud in tangerine lines.

One earbud in your ear, the other in mine.

I think I’ve become the dust
caught spinning within a sunbeam.

Moths hitting against the window,
cicadas singing outside,
a reminder of the world still breathing in the darkness.

I will always think of those summers and think of you.
a promise
Irene Feb 20
it is the crescent of night

her eyes gleam in bright silver,
my heart wanes like a tide.

hope was once rising across our sky,
but is now wedging below the earth.
fridge magnet poetry
Irene Feb 20
In December, I thought I heard the sound of crickets outside my window.

The street lights stutter as snow falls
beneath their mute flickering,
all my dreams of memories of lightning. I'm alone
with the sound of aching snow under my feet.

In February, I miss the sound of falling rain.

My heart falters at the hope of rolling thunder,
disappointed when turning out only to be the harsh wind.
Still– I close my eyes and allow myself to believe
that the storms arrived after all of my wishing.

The wind falls and all I see is
green and glimmering,
choirs of leaves always promising
to return all of the heartache I thought I’d forgotten.

June, you took
everything.

Yet it’s always you coming back to me.
Irene Jan 23
my body creaks like an abandoned house.
the floors shutter inside
at the occurrence of any visitors.
a forgotten door remains open-

waiting.
she'll always be waiting.
by now, she's forgotten
if there's anything worth waiting for.

is there any music left in me?
is just feeling enough
to fill the silence?
i can still feel it.

i'm still spinning-
i'm spinning,
spinning,
falling back into poetry.
Irene Jun 2020
When I try for rolling thunder,
it comes out a knock on the door.
I've stopped checking the mail--
I don't expect to hear
from you anymore.

(Love is pouring from my cracks and my seams.)

Did you hear that the continents are moving back together?
Do they regret the years spent apart?
(If I think too clearly of you,
I must draw myself closer
to squeeze out the aching.)

It is hard to let go
when there is nowhere new to grasp.
for every friend
Irene Sep 2019
I stand, toes cold
beneath black sand.
The waves may be calm,
but I am all violence.
Neptune glows greatly above.
I've lost all fascination for constellations;
By now, I thought I would be
up there with them.

The dark sky burns ultraviolet,
my passion desaturated
by years of lost opportunities,
or maybe, by the storms
they predicted but never came.
Either way- I've come to know
disappointment like the scars on my knees.
I scream, Did you think I could ever forget?
Incomplete
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