WordTapestry

navel today,  the rind bit back, each petal  of the orange  leaving chalky slivers of sun beneath my nails. by second nature,  I peeled  at the navel-- skin  from veins  from flesh.  the seeds came unexpected,  slipping from  startled fingertips--  those rows of  bitter teeth.  oh,  all this time  spent tracing   each crease in your pock-marked skin,  savoring  how gently  you parted from  the pulp beneath,  gifting me  your soul of marigold.  all this time,  calling you  by the wrong name,  clementine. 

through the looking glass can you see me,  still,  through your lens-- in the dappled light,  my wavering? tilting my chin so you can get  the good angle--  leaning forward,  tiptoes  into the blankness of your shutter.  arms outstretched,  i'm falling down into your  liquid gaze,  that smooth well of film.  plunging through  the silky tension,  soft as the wrinkle of my brow.  now  lying prone,  a blot of ink on the  sunbleached page,  its edges abrupt--  spindly cracks  in the plaster.  is this the hesitance,  the breath of time you will remember?  all these years collapsed  into a frame-- balled in my  palms,  poised to let go. 

lux vitae i saw you  this morning in the tea leaves --  your face crinkled at the edges,  smudged with  clotted cream.  sunbathing in  the smile of morning,  by those bruised grapes on the table. their stems echo  your spine, those tiny knuckles that strain red-white against your skin,  like so many knots I cannot unravel. how I'd love to  fish out the leaves, untangle the stems, blot the worry  from your face --  but the spoon  quivers,  your cheek turns and  something  spills over,  an unplaced reverence,  slipping like tears down my mug.  in its wake,  I'll smile  because longing  tastes like Earl Grey,  bitter and warm --  and oh, who would've known?

interlude the thought  comes quickly  to me,  as the rain on hot asphalt,  soaking through my off-white shoes.  I think for a moment  that I'll let it go-- leave a trail of breadcrumbs for the birds circling above,  who turn like grief,  like so many  smoke rings.  to let it slip from my fingertips,  let it fall past  the laces-- those perked bunny ears quivering on the tongue.  it would crack on the pavement,  bleeding a creamy yolk  like sunset,  the whites glistening-- morning dew.    and what then?  it'd be gone,  soaked up  by the weeds.  gone,  oh, what a hollow word  to taste.  I'll continue walking,  then,  let the rain tease through my hair.  not looking down,  away from the off-white.

liminal space living forever in  the gentle opposition  of magnets,  their cool backs  kissing my hands. the floor trembles  as they begin to talk, so the  deepest inhale I will take,  breath by breath  I unravel like  so many ripples  in the pond. inhale , exhale but can't I just stay suspended in the softness  between  these magnets,  untouchable,  unbroken-- their cartoon faces  blurry  to my weary eyes.  inhale , exhale something has  fallen,  hairsbreadth out of place-- the skim of my reverie  is torn.  so I dive deep  under,  fingers grazing the bottom of an endless blue  with nothing but silt to hold.   inhale, exhale the floor  is still, even,  quiet-- but I have lost the magnets, the dirt, that feeling  of  suspension.  in its wake,  I murmur  sweet nothings-- long-forgotten melodies with parched lips,  the not...

us, twenty thousand leagues above shore when they ask,  I'll say we were  sardines in a packet,  the cans wrapped  tight in plastic film,  like the  silk lampshade  grandmother  never let me touch.  and on some forgotten day  the lid was opened,  torn by Man's hunger. you scratched through  our skin,  pierced us to the quick,  nails digging in  until your fingertips turned white  from pressure-- those plastic threads sighing like mother's breath,  settling on our shoulders, never giving in.  so I marinate,  soaked in  your oily stare-- the salt drying my lips,  curing you stiff.  our bodies splayed as bugs in amber,  hardly feeling,  hardly there.  and what else is there to do,  but to stay  fish-eyed,  our mouths gaping holes  between us. 

leave me exit wounds you know,  the stones you gave me are still in my pockets,  their dirt licking my palms.  leaving bruises,  ugly purple nothings I press if only to remember. and oh,  the sun is out today, like it hasn't been  in a while.  I didn't notice it had gone until it crept in  to warm my brow.  you know, I awoke  this morning deaf to the promises of last night,  that old, bitter flavor coating my teeth-- how I wish it'd take form,  salty pebbles upon pebbles,  liquid smooth,  so we'd have a reason to walk down  to the river, skip our troubles  down the waiting shore.  but  where can I put it down?  not now,  in the intimacy  of this shared silence-- golden-rimmed nostalgia I cup to my lips,  not daring to taste,  to swallow.  for now   I will down my drink,  chewing on the ice before it starts  to sweat-- and how they strain,  how ...