Archives for posts with tag: poetry

I can’t go home

I can’t change my name

I’m my only home

I spoke with the swans

they don’t blame anyone

who’s long

Who’s your nurse

Who’s praying for pain

braced and alone

my clothes sleep

inside a mirror where at night

the piano teacher’s ghost

makes the dog bark

The agreement they made

was not agreed on by me

the silence, the sweeping

the kidnapping of emotions-

bomb your barbies

I want to live

I want to really live

where the papayas grow

Be a sugar lion

a rose inside my heart

I ate salty foods to receive

the message

in a dream

I tried and I’m so tired

You deserve a trophy

for those understanding eyes

I ride your voice

like I ride a swing

like toes that touch clouds

and bellies that fall

I snuck a sugar cube

into my winter glove

but it wasn’t my wedding day

I told you

I’ve told you

I’ve known you before I met you

All I want is New York

in an inappropriate dress

and to forget which perfume I’m wearing

I’m the sidewalk

I’m the rocks

I’m the boulders in Central Park

I admire the puppies

(because they know the city better than I do)

And my heart never leaves this place

Sweating and swooning

at murals and taxis

and miscounting the blocks as I walk

My skin respects the memories

that know this isn’t mine

because we all belong here

like the dirt in the air

in the best city

I float

In jello sneakers

and my insides sparkle

because you call me

Tell me where I can’t go

Tell me what I shouldn’t do

She left you for herself and

When I recognize the narcissist in me

no longer heavy-eyed

my optimism grows from a well of pain

I’m a paper rhino trying to be friends

with a leopard

who turned into a blue-haired girl

The cost of comfort is more

than one blackbird’s life

I keep you away from me

So What If I Liked You

never was there a word for you

you’re a prophet?

You brought a caramel.

As each dish chips,

we’ll throw them away

until the cupboards are empty

there’ll be nothing left to use

nothing to eat from

nothing to pack

just aprons to burn

She’ll be ready for us to go then

(maybe she’s already ready)

the piano teacher’s ghost

I hope she’ll wish us well

the house emptied

and we’ll forever be grateful

for the home

that the purple swift built