Poetry

Return

It travels, fire-tongued

through each cell, alight and intense

up into the wilderness that is your eyes.

Its pure crystalline intent

pasted with letters and notes of our future,

a flash of keys,

a suitcase label,

manuscript pages littering the floor among

scribbled workings of code.

The data is transferred in a single,

pulse-racing moment

as our lips touch finally after so long apart.

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Poetry

Sea mist

The ice has broken under my feet

I’m not plunging into cold

As I imagined each time I launched this scenario

In my head

I’m not connecting to the ground

To the sea

To the air

I’m an apparition, a wisp of memory

On the breeze

And I’m being carried forward whether I like it or not

Poetry

Set Sail

Are they eyes or suckers

that latch onto us as we sail

across the jewel-glint oceans in search of new land?

We look to the horizon,

only hands of salt sparkles greet us,

but we can feel it beyond.

It has a pulse, a thrum,

that even the deepest depths cannot hide

from knowing ears.

The claws that may once have gripped us

have become cracked and dry,

brittle enough to break at a single touch,

and our boat is the ramming kind now.

Poetry

Pot holes

The ball is rolling

Swerving to avoid the clutching hands

And searching eyes

Of salt-caked whispering demons.

‘You don’t want to do that

Why on earth would you want to do that

When there’s so much more you could do?’

But I don’t want more,

I want what I’ve always wanted,

And now that it’s clear for everyone to see

Panic has spread throughout the school

And those harmless seeming founders

Have become piranhas.

No matter how steep the hill becomes

I will reach the peak.

Poetry

Dominoes

We come to it again,

this meeting of stories about futures we’ll never know

because the future we’re making

is far better than those.

But we’re curious, even though

such hypotheses may make us sad,

could we, if we needed, have stayed silent

and not gone mad?

 

If we’d gone through life

as best friends forever,

would you have told me if you’d fallen?

Fallen in the way that you fell for me in this present,

undeniably, inescapably, euphorically

in love.

 

Would I ever have brought myself to tell you?

I might have thought it would ruin our friendship –

that’s what all the other accounts say.

But to deny my feelings is to deny myself of their worth, of yours.

 

I don’t think silence would have sat well with me.

I don’t think she would have done for you, either.

Our entire premise

is that our hearts and wounds are open

for the other to fully see.

Poetry

Bearer

it’s just a small thing.

a trinket.

overlooked in a rushing crowd

but noticed instantly by family.

I wonder if they’d be surprised

to see it there,

making rainbows skip about the walls

as it caught the light

while I would sit, fingers wrapped around a tea cup,

in front of the window

facing them.

you’d be next to me,

teeth as bright as the gem you gave me

in a smile that i treasure even more.

Poetry

Homemaker

I uncurl my toes from the carpet.

My stomach has a weight in it, cold

that rises to my throat.

It’s been there since this morning, after

I watched you hurry for the bus,

a smile lingering on your lips as I waved.

 

It only feels like home when you’re here.

When you’re not,

it’s just a place where I spend my time

running through the routines of life

without feeling I’m living any of it.

 

Home is where we will both be

in the future.

It’s hard not to jump forwards,

but rushing will only crumble

the blocks we’ve been trying to maintain for everyone else.

I know, once they’re solid,

we can claim our own, and make our own.

Our house, our homely home.