this town is a skeleton
stretching its bones
between these rolling hills.
the silence at night
can be terrifying.
we have trouble
filling up such big houses,
such empty buildings.
it storms, and all the
stained glass windows
rattle in their frames.
there is blood
on my finger
and a song
stuck in my teeth.
like the blossom
of all those fireworks,
your braids
are quiet.
they loop around
a field of wheat.
you have spread yourself
wider than the lake.
our house was swallowed
in vines. they have grown
into our bedroom window
to lay claim on this land.
we ignore them.
we dream on, dream on.
The stars got it wrong.
In all these dreams,
I am in planes, on the wide decks
of boats, or sulking in the
passenger seat of a Buick.
I am getting away.
The radio blares, but I can’t
seem to make out any lyrics.
There were red shoes.
There were unsigned cards.
There were so many seeds
that refused to take root.
I wake up and find pain
in all of my joints, as if
my hands were over my head
for hours, exclaiming something
I do not remember.
you are quartz
you are a pond full of tea
you are the grasses
that dip down slowly.
this room is too small.
there are windows
to press your cheeks
up against, to cloud
with sweat and blush.
lift up your skirts
and let the voices
fall out.
this is what it
feels like
to be sweet.
do you know what happens
when you break the glass doorknob
off in your hands?
we go back to the beginning.
we start out with flushed cheeks
and palms so sweaty.
we’ll walk out onto this
great frozen lake and melt
straight through its surface.
this is the bottom.
now we must look up.
we fell asleep
in the backseat.
the windows were
left rolled down.
seats sticky with dew,
vertebrae bent and twisted.
as we slept, the sky turned
the deepest blue, then darkness.
when we woke up
entangled & cold,
the trunk of your car
was full of violets.
little pots
all lined up.
in my dreams,
all the snails
on the sidewalk
unrolled themselves
into beams of light.
my heart moved
with the grace of
a school of little pink fish.
my lungs gasped for air
as if from the bottom
of a well.
the night was so thick
I couldn’t catch my breath.
it seeped around the moon
like crude oil, like a mistake.
last month, in the choir,
I yielded to to sweet sleep.
strengthen my heart
to burst out of my chest.
the heart bleeds
continually.
dear Father,
I am dying of pain.
grant me this grace?
__________________
this poem was written using Padre Pio's own words.
the house still stands.
I will do what I have always done
and leave the curtains open,
stare across our yard, and press
my nose to the glass.
I will continue to imagine
that the house is full of apples.
I will sleep on the floor
until someone comes home.
there is a mess in my head
that no amount of sweeping
will push into a corner.
I went to the movies
and walked straight up the aisle
with a pushpin in my hand,
I punctured the screen
and it rippled like the water
I’d imagined it to be.
I need a field of magnets
to pull me back home
when I wander too close to the edge
of this wide & wonderful ocean.
My mother’s hand leaps to her chest
as I dangle my toes over the rock.
Why should I be scared of such
a height?
Our flames lick the logs
from beneath. I almost fall when
the wood pops with water in the fireplace.
It must be the sound of a heart breaking.
you touched my eye
with the rough tip
of your forefinger
and the whole world
went black.
I imagined the stars
like milk in my mouth.
open your mouth
wider.
there are more galaxies
beneath your tongue.
you are a warm invention.
I keep wearing your jacket.
there are holes in the pockets
and I lose my house keys
in the red silk lining
every time.
she glued thick black lace
on all our family portraits
as if we were all looking at the world
from behind intricate fences, as if
we kept ourselves unaware
and locked away. she always said
our windows are too wide and she’d
almost tear the curtains from their rods
trying to pull them closed. some people,
they just won’t understand. some people.
my fever burnt a hole
straight through my
grandmother’s quilt.
the cottage was thick
with lavender smoke
like this was magic,
as if everything wasn’t
too painful to think about.
the river flowed on.
the trees continued
their slow shift
into rust.
I submerged my body
in a bathtub full of honey
if only to coat this
burning throat,
to make everything move
just a bit slower.
,_oeuvre_du_Ma%C3%AEtre_du_retable_de_Stauffenberg,_actif_au_15%C3%A8me_si%C3%A8cle_(Mus%C3%A9e_d%27Unterlinden,_Colmar).jpg)
I have my sorrows
narrowed down to seven.
these tears connect
like constellations.
I’ve been thrown
out of orbit.
the tulips at your feet
sagged on their stems.
I wanted to scare them
back to life.
the tornado made us feel eager,
expectant.
all those bricks
fell so quickly.
with the neighborhood
pooling around the storm drains,
I really thought
you’d return my kiss.
these are my
best hands.
I’ve been saving them
for just this occasion.
I saw your teeth
glittering gold
from the back
of the church
and I knew I had
to touch your mouth,
feel the heat
of all those stars.
I woke up suddenly
and thought this was
the next life.
You were so bright
and your mouth
was so full of cherries.
I leaned into your body
with my whole heart
and fell right through.
when he died,
that blue egg
in your stomach
rattled.
your throat
was a campfire,
your lips as bright
as a July flame.
the strawberry layer cake
on the kitchen counter
wilted onto the formica.
the party’s over.
I caught you yelling
from the upstairs window
three or four times
before you filled your mouth
with an apple and called it a day.
I pointed at the moon to show you
what quiet really sounds like.
The weather blew in
to my angry lungs
and filled them with frost.
This must be what it feels like
to not trust your own organs,
to go out playing your
one moaning song.
We must speak to them with our hands
before we try to speak to them with our lips.
you bit my finger and said
that we were all born
from one peach pit
and that your heart
felt like a velvet chair
left out in the rain.
this parking lot
is not a star
and the line
running down the center
of the road home
is anything
but straight.
