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Literature Text
Blood
pumps in two
directions – to,
and from, heart
to tiptoe.
The first
breath is sharp
in my diaphragm – the
last, heavy, saturated
in hushed ache,
sated.
You are
the pulse
between my legs,
and the sigh rushing
to the center
for air.
pumps in two
directions – to,
and from, heart
to tiptoe.
The first
breath is sharp
in my diaphragm – the
last, heavy, saturated
in hushed ache,
sated.
You are
the pulse
between my legs,
and the sigh rushing
to the center
for air.
Literature
Terroir
I saved the important stuff;
the scarf-blanket you knit me
before your fingers quit working,
your favorite book with its
w o r n p a g e s
and
f a d e d w o r d s.
I saved your smile and the way your
lips look when you say my name.
I filed them away with good
intentions, missed opportunities,
and wishes, and placed everything
in a jar, to keep for a rainy day
like the ones you used to love
(like the me you used to love).
But the way your skin felt floats
away on the wind,
like your words
of farewell on the last day I saw you.
I can't remember the shape of
your face, the angle of your l
Literature
Lydia
{i wrote this for the fifth-grader who told me once my hair looked like ramen noodles.}
1.
i felt bad that i had forgotten for awhile how much she believes that the universe needs to be
smaller
in order for the stars to be closer, even though
sometimes
she forgets how big she is.
2.
Lydia is like holding a butterfly, and she moves like a wish does
through a dandelion’s fur
when i first met her i felt inadequately colored
and when i first told her my name was Cady, she yelled at me for spelling it wrong.
Lydia used to be one of those gangly, weightless nine-year-olds, always spindly and stringy
against the onslaught of leg forests
Literature
Seoul
it was
all too easy,
forgetting your name,
tasting the starlight tucked
behind someone else's
wisdom teeth ;
our soju-laced smiles
crashing at 90mph
and the memory of you
caught
in the headlights and
wreckage of us,
our 2am laughter
echoing in your bones
from 5654 miles away ;
my hands knowing
the age-old roads
that led to brand new places,
and the faded map of you
folded and kept hastily
in my back pocket.
(I was far too proud
to ask for directions
to come home)
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Wanted to rewrite Some Lovers II and ended up writing something new altogether 
Tried to build the poem like a cardiac monitor to go with the blood theme and I'm pretty happy with it.
Tried to build the poem like a cardiac monitor to go with the blood theme and I'm pretty happy with it. © 2014 - 2024 SilverInkblot
Comments15
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Ooh this is awesome. Love how it looks like a monitor. 