how vain i should be to reread my own posts, but sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, i find myself scrolling through the past on the computer, mouthing the words or simply caressing them with my eyes. because within me there is something i have not yet understood. an undercurrent of a river lost in my old, unpracticed tongue.
rio de la plata maybe. or river of the sun.
even the sun has sunspots, darker on the background of virginal white; and so i have the blind spots: i always find them when i try. no light is enough to banish the spot of darkess on my sleeve: the drop of blood refusing to wash off in hot water. it would wash off in the cold, i know, but it’ll never get the chance.
chances are far and in between, don’t you know?
and i find myself every time, unexpected, like red peonies on a rose bush in may.
находжу себе кожен раз в шматку чорного хліба.
but what is there to find, other than the poems i had learnt by heart in years three and five. and seven. wordsworth’s daffodils.
the yellow vibrancy of life.
Posted in chapters of my life
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sometimes i wish to hear your voice:
the soft cacophony of sounds,
your steady breathing interrupting
toungue’s quest to place me in your mouth
each word in lurid reverberation
it’s vowels readily astute,
acute as angle door makes
before closing /
like a new bed or, if you’d rather, wardrobe
i want a van to carry me that voice
as i recline half-open on the floor
i want a man to knock upon my door
and give it to me, there, then, no strings attached,
merely a parcel with a part of you /
if only you knew
sometimes i wish to hear your voice
but daren’t ever let you know /
Posted in excerpts
Tagged acute, angle, astute, attached, bed, before, breathing, cacopony, carry, closing, daren't, door, eachw, floor, give, half, hear, interrupt, interrupting, it, knew, knock, know, let, like, lurid, make, man, me, merely, mouth, my, new, only, open, parcel, part, place, poems, poetry, quest, rather, readily, recline, reverbration, soft, sometimes, sounds, steady, strings, then, there, tongue, upon, van, voice, vowels, want, wardrobe, wish, word, writing, you, your
we talked about baby names today. not that we’ll have kids. not even that we’d ever want to, but that’s how conversation strays, non, mon ami? and we can laugh and giggle all we want but in the end, would we ever want a family?
it’s not something we have, or at least i have, thought about.
you think i’m not a family sort of girl and maybe i’m not. i don’t tell you enough about myself fro you to really know.
all you know is the way my breath tastes on your tongue and the way my hair flutters in the cold winter wind, ponytail restricting its movement. containing it.
and that’s all you need to know.
aren’t you happy with the piece of thread i stretch out to you, like a life line? the way i pretend there’s nothing else connecting us, because that’s the way i work?
and this is it. this is me. a solitary link in the collective chain, a broken smile amidst the glum faces.
yours and someone else’s.
or maybe not yours at all.
Posted in chapters of my life
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a night of coveted mirages,
your native tongue between the sheets
parce mots anglais perdent leurs valeur
and my pain rouses as lights flicker out
the echo firing up every synapse in my body
eyes wide open only to see the world forlorn
no deplorable desire in my dejected demur
no looseness in my muted speech
only ashes of the phoenix
you couldn’t believe in
fini
Posted in excerpts
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glittering soot on her eyelashes 