Poetry

Unnecessary measurements

If we were to measure each other out as ingredients on silver scales,

the balance would be so perfectly held

it would look like the scales had rusted solid.

Then we’d spend all afternoon discussing why scales

with such precise measurements

are unnecessary for the conversion rates of our brains,

shooting off into zesty tangents

until we finally agree that the setting sun is a sign

we should stroll off and get some sleep.

Poetry

Exoskeleton

We are what we are, until

we learn what’s underneath

and what we’ve held back for so long.

Always paying attention to the ticks, but never the softer tocks.

Our outside skins will crack over time,

no matter how much moisturizer is applied

because they’re cocoons

waiting for the right moment

to let us stand on our own legs.

Poetry

Eye Sore

They’re not reflections, they’re windows.

Diamond thoughts set into heat haze.

You see everything.

The room with the book on the nightstand,

open

with the pages facing down and spine stretched,

cracked down the centre

and fragmenting out.

Like they’re trying to be reliable, transparent

but haven’t quite figured it our yet.

Poetry

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link

There was a lock around my heart,

chains dragging behind me, longer than Jacob Marley’s.

I thought I’d have them forever,

but it turned out that words are a great corrosive,

eating into the toughest metals.

They didn’t come from me, I was too much

on the inside, struck dumb by expectations and resigned attitudes.

They came from you, from a single offer you made

of trying to help me solve a puzzle.

Neither of us realised the puzzle

was ourselves.

Poetry

Pebbles

The stones are cool against my skin as the tide draws away

to leave them raw. Skitter, the drag comes.

It tries to take me with it, but I am planted firm,

my hair rooting into the shore.

I am solid, I am grounded, breathing a concept

I no longer need. The salt in my tears

from eons of watching sunsets and rises

crystalises into my imprint. I’ll remain for eternity,

even if I join the sand.

Poetry

Social Noise

The camera flash flashes away my sight of you,

aided by the hovering, caterwauling middle-agers,

parents of rushing children, despite their own failure

to reel in their mouths, and yet your words still

paint themselves in my mind, sponsored by your unwavering image.

The reason is the pouring of your heart, cogs, springs

and fate line into my lap so I can cradle each one

in reason and warmth, judgement free.

Alas, the world wants to block you from my ears,

so to quiet we must go, where my attention

can blanket you fully.

Poetry

Wires

So we’ve got the rib spreaders out to force the cavity as far open as we can, grasping down deep and convincing those pushed aside and half-forgotten truths to face the air. How very similar; have we borrowed memories or swapped minds? We might be one organism split into two, and if those silken threads The Fates toy with had been different, we could have been denied the chance to become whole again. Or, if they’d seen fit to knot our tale, perhaps the opportunity would have arisen sooner. What does it matter now? Our wires are matched.

Poetry

Peach Stone

1.

Inside, it’s cold. The density

causes ice to vomit from my mouth,

fingernails blue up to the cuticles.

If I were to examine my chest,

open my flesh and push apart my ribs,

would I see a ball of obsidian

or a fleshy, ripe peach?

 

2.

With you, the limbs of the tree are always

bent with fruit

no matter if the middle of winter

grasps at its bark. Soft, plump, nourishing.

I can always pick how much I want,

cook it up and make sweet crumble

to warm our bellies.