NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Eight : Overseas

The Room Elsewhere

In Another Town

Across The Border

So Very

Far Away

If you roll a postcard landscape, it will fit inside a bottle. I discovered this when I held everything I wanted to tell you between my palms, and worried it so much it shriveled to a cylinder so thin it fit inside the empty coke bottle you left on the windowsill.

I used cork to keep the second thoughts from escaping. Coke bottles are surprisingly soundproof. Even the apologies find it hard to rattle the glass enough for me to want to turn and look. With all the silence that is left inside this house I sometimes wonder if I should pour out the content for something other than quiet. So far I’ve kept that bottle closed. I guess I’m stronger than I feel.

I tossed all those words into the sea yesterday. The water wasn’t deep enough and the tide brought you back each time I tried until eventually my arms turned to lead and I could throw just as well left as right. Should I thank you for that?

The weather’s been nice at least. You would have liked it.

Am I allowed to say, wish you were here?

logo-napowrimo

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-Seven : Reading

Fingers like twigs,

they rustle when she reaches

for the stack of tarot cards

clustered center

in a dogeared pile

of past lives laid out

before ghosts

who sat where I sit

hands tucked beneath my knees

as if that will keep darkness

from turning to face me.

NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Six: Flashback

Memories arrive like choke chains.

That smell

curled inside your nostrils

that sort of seems like Christmas

but you can’t remember why.

It can be summer,

sweat sliding into the creases

behind your knees,

shoulders tight, and prickled,

where you know they’ve been caught

because you left the house too soon

without sunscreen of glasses

to keep your forehead from crumpling

into frown lines against the sun,

blinking away the green dancers

flashing into view when the lights dim.

Even with the sound of children,

crashing through the shallows

and pedalos cutting through the lake,

one smell can spring you into winter.

Make you shudder

and wish

that the name you’re thinking of

was a little closer than the tip of your tongue.

NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Five: Poison

If you run your hands along my sides

you can feel the ridges beneath my skin,

the raised lines of glass,

an old pharmacy trick,

so those who could not read their words

wouldn’t pick up the poison

by accident.

 

When you have peeled my clothes away,

they will still be there.

The final line of defence

when all the labels have been cast off

and you could be forgiven

to think I was medicine

instead of arsenic wrapped in curves.

img_2004

NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Four: Sweeter Echo

I’ve caught your words in my mouth

once or twice

since you’ve been gone.

They fall like sugar,

dissolving into conversation,

stirred past,

almost before I have time to notice

that I said themĀ instead of you.

Even past death

you voice lives on.

img_2004-1