two paints in the pack:
cadmium yellow and
cadmium red.
the yellow’s on my nails –
you like that one.
you hold my hand out and inspect it
mostly shine, with the occasional chip.
you don’t seem to notice the chip,
or, at least, it doesn’t bother you;
it’s nice.
Little me wants to touch the sun
Big me’s instinct is to run
Little me makes earth my toy Continue reading
I think of those who sat here before me,
Drinking overpriced tea in an overpriced seat;
Trying not to feel miffed at £2.20 for a teabag and hot water,
But this frivolous life is one that is growing on me,
The art of not caring becomes all too natural
As I sit by the door and think about leaving
But not leaving.
Continue reading
Death is sleeping
beneath the surface of the water.
She is alive with insects,
moss flowering over her wings.
Little black bat, submerged in formaldehyde,
leather-skinned old woman–
don’t wake just yet. Continue reading
I woke the night it finally rained
With a desire to take myself outside and lie down
Among all the broken spines of estranged grass
Baked dry by this new breed of summer sun Continue reading
For the village of strong women that raised me. I am indebted, always.
I will always need another body to follow through the fog
another voice to cut through the darkness
a thousand more tongues to set alight when our syllables
become knives
more fingernails to watch collect ink and stone as they claw their way home Continue reading
