let me livein those secondsbetween awakeningand awareness when I don't remember what I have lostbefore the ache beginsand I feel like the targetat the gathering of archersbefore it feels likeall the knife throwersare practicing on melet me livein that placebetween sleepand awaketell myselfwe are still ours
yesterdayI was paralysed by grief againI found myself holding on to the edge of the sinkstaggering, shaken,when I came toa while later,peeling potatoes,I found myself with my hands submerged in the hot waterI had slipped them in,then held them there,unthinkingI, who have always been so careful with my hands, praying for them separatelythankful for the magic they holdthe magic with ...
my limbsget so heavy sometimesI have to picture myselfpicking me up in parts -this handwith this other handthese legswith both these handsthis headtakes so much to hold upbefore I can make myself lurchthrough this sea of grief
I'll just keep onsaving up these knives -use them to stab myself again.you thought you hurt me with words?you will never know just how I hurt myself.I take them out each nightlook at all these weapons you triedand here I am bloody and broken and yetnot begging, not so fallen as to let you feed me.do you know nothing? I know how to stay hungry.
some peoplebite the hand that feedsyou poured poison into mineheld it to my mouththen mauled me to bitsshredding every part that bleedsshedding every last decencyadding insult to injuryyou then came aroundwith balm that only burnsyou cannot helpwhat you are
vocal cords paralyzed, woke up soundlessly screamingthroat raw, burning; your ghost shredding my sleep stillyou were only readingin an empty house you used to visit, a house I once lived inand yet I woke upsilently screaming, the sight of you unbearable still
on the other side of the worldyou hold me in your heart as home, your north starI sit here hoping you never returnI once held your name so precious in my mouth, saying it only with tendernessit took me three tries to remember it todayhow cold, to love a woman like mewho only loved you once
do you know what a bombdoes to a body?an embalmer tells methey do what they canwith the parts they getbut sometimes it just isn’t enoughI’ve been carrying your bodyaround for far too longparts of you are falling into dinner conversations, drying upthe laughterwhen they remember how they have forgotten other presses are state-of-the-artthe men at their helm fearlessfor they rarely ...
that first time, a Christmas treethe kindness of strangerstowards childrenwe didn’t know what we didn’t havemaking do with what we didstringing popcorn on the treethe girl next-door would eat it upbut we were wrapped up in love,that warm blanket for cold days.
it was easy to pick youto pick you upto keep you for long enough[all these years,a long timefor something that wasn’t love]lust is a hot knifethrough hard icebut some things melt easily –only to harden again
this is how I always know it’s you: the tiny birthmarks between your shoulder and heart and on the inside of your thigh; the sound of your blood, the rhythm of the slow pauses between your heartbeats; the scent of your hair, taste of your skin; and most of all, the signature of your smile.
I have startedthinking abouttime againit does not help mebut it helps meunderstandbecause time – time can measurehow hearts workin silence, space, distancetime can measure lovein that measurementI can understandloss
loving youhas too often beena lessonin the many waysthe human heartcan bruisesometimes in the tender shadesof ripening fruitsometimes like a war that I will lose
I want to forgethow I loved youwith a love that madeyou want to cryunable to reciprocateI will take nothing from youwhen I leaveyou will feel everything you aredisappear
we were not so poor thenwe spoke Englishhad running waterand tins of food from Englandfrom those who left before usour possessionof this tongue alonewas enough for mothersto send their children to our gardeneven after our mother left(but what gave us street credwere those instant soups)we were not so desperate theneven when the same bloodrunning in our veinsstarted running in the ...
the womanin the housebehind my mother’sforever leaping into wellsgot on my mother’s nerves‘why can’t she do the damn thingwhen the well is full?’she would fumeknowing full wellit was only a cyclerinse, rise, repeat.