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Poetry / Writings-  
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Sections from Dead Stars Have No Graves
"snow this morning" Snow this morning. Coldest day of the year so far. Last year, when the first snow fell, I bought the scarf you wear right now. Too cold for you to be wandering around with no warmth, I said. Even then you were surprised by my concern. As if I should ignore winter painting your face blue. The winter still worries me. What I keep from you still worries me. What you keep from me worries me. Wrapped up in angora. The scarf was my suggestion for warmth. Now, I am afraid if I pull it from your neck your head will fall off. (to top) "hair growing is grass" Hair growing is grass growing with the slightest changes from day to day like a season that doesn't fade urgently but drifts away like a boat not tied to the dock. We lose each other like this in the harbor. I don't notice how long your hair is until I see a picture of you from a year ago. This change settled over us like dust: unnoticed, but slowly freezing the stars out of place because I haven't looked up to notice the constellations have shifted. Just wake up one severe morning, and it's all wrong. (to top) "if you have been looking into flames" If you have been wanting to burst into flames, now would be the moment. An electrical short, a candle forgotten, an iron left on by accident, an arsonist's Molotov cocktail, spontaneous combustion or an act of God – if you are looking for an exit, any of these would do right now. We have put so much money and time into your framework, your color scheme and carpet, but if you need to burn, I would accept that right now. Only right now. This is your chance to converse with the stars that hover above you every night. Drown them out of the night sky. One of the neighbors would call the authorities so you wouldn't burn down completely. Just smoke and water damage. You will heal over time. We all heal over time. Please, if you could exhale flames right now, you would be the gravest danger surrounding us. We would run away, hand in hand, bound together in fear. I will allow you to burn to dust. Sacrifice you to the altar of this minute. The first casualty of this minute. But I smell no smoke. I hear no sirens – just your heavy breathing from crying. (to top) "i could kill our children" I could kill our children right now. Have you already drawn their chalk outlines, ready for me to insert their bodies? How long have you been waiting? Is this what you want? Me to steal the breath from our children who aren't yet breathing? Like dressing a wound that hasn't been inflicted yet. Patience rests on your lips. How long has it slept there? Have you been waiting for this atrocity to burst us open like rain clouds? Should I complete this crime scene, give you the devastation you've been praying for? Is this what you want? I just want to know what you want. Hold your hand. Paint the walls with our blood. I prefer your hand. I will let it go if it's pulled away. (to top) since I first tasted their salty texture. You have shed your entire body since I first laid my hand on your face. Please leave the room, and come back with your eyes closed. With your new fingers, new lips, I want you to touch me as if you don’t know me. We can be strangers again if we try – the kind who haven’t met, not the kind who have grown distant, unfamiliar. My skin is new too. Please don’t open your eyes. They give everything away. (to top) | |||