"tillamook" poems
I burned your sandwich today.
Just like your mom used to.
Except she was just bad at making sandwiches.
I wanted to ruin your day.
The phone bill, rigidly $99.95 a month
Has overage fees on it.
You’re making a lot of private calls
For your public service job.
I think someone’s been siphoning gas
While we sleep
Because I certainly didn’t use that much,
Honey.
I’m onto you.
But I’m not bitter
Not at all.
Sorry about the sandwich.
Have a nice day
with her.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 2:34 AM UTC
In Carson you took my hand as we crossed the whitecapped river - cold water cramping toes, we minced our way along algaed rocks like cats tiptoeing on ice
But in Tillamook we hunted Dungeoness crab and I roared for you
Did you hear?
We were hunting our kin - and I wondered if this could be sacrilege to the Cancers, perhaps not
But I heard the quiet "Thankyou," given to each one as you lowered them into the *** the reverence in your voice soothed me like the pounding of the Pacific arm along that beach - my own golden shore -
I thought I had lost it you see -
Hidden in the dunes we consumed the flesh of the ***** and sat down to watch the sun melt into the blue
I wanted to say thank you too
But the words escaped me like your bandanna flying out from the truck
Like those ***** in the bay below who felt us tugging at the lines and crawled out of the ascending baskets, escaping death from our mouths
I like to think that we are them as well
Because we both run from comfortable prisons, the pillow that cradles the head but entraps the heart.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC