this must be what the seas of Greece look like,
so blue it looks white
the water so deceiving
this must be what normal feels like,
so chill it’s like sleep
the peace I hear it leaving
this must be what perfection tastes like,
so fake it seems real
the day it leaves me grieving
it’s freaking me out
this business of growing old
wanting my face to remain like stone
staying calm with one hand
resting over the other
while
waiting and tending to
this business of growing old
Over a year old, but still relevant. It explains the beginning of our journey.
She told me in confidence that she thought she gave birth to a beast. She looked around the room to make sure that we were alone. Her eyes darted down and she whispered it, “a monster.“ The odd thing is that his birth had been so peaceful that January evening with the air so quiet you could hear the falling snow. In the peaceful, dim-lit room with hushed voices late at night, he just slipped out. He just slipped out.
She told me that when he was born he looked like a little alien. He hardly slept for 2 years and his hunger was insatiable. When he cried her heart would race, and her eardrums would go numb. She would catch him staring in his crib at things she could not see. Stare so long, his eyes would drip water like a faucet. But he would twirl…
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after it tempted me with its stalky teasers
showing me its many scarlet hats
I saw her camouflaged behind the leaves
dull brown hiding her ruddy brown
with her head looking down
I heard her call out a song to distract me
then watched her fly away
broke my heart she didn’t want to stay
brown tipped moth led the way
past the swamp, the marsh, the murk.
away from the swarm of ink
waiting to envelop me.
it led the way past the squished
garnet worms beneath my
cardboard sneakers, me
whispering sorry
past the house with the
flamingos in their pool,
past the party, the envy, the fools.
brown tipped moth led the way
and I followed, inhaling its dust
past the chatter, the damage, the lies.
away from this flock of fear
and
away from thinking there
must be better than here.
I felt the friction like a cat’s tongue
hesitating to taste what’s on my finger
cooed sweet baby words in its ear
to get him to linger
drove under the dopey gray clouds
so tired from the day
and told big happy lies to myself
begging the sunshine to stay
there’s danger in having pity on me
cause you’ll sink like me
then you’ll be like me
don’t get too close
cause you’ll get
hurt, you’ll see
then be hurt
like me, just
you wait
and see
her skirt blowing in the wind,
next to the cliff, next to the ocean
her gnarled foot making the rocks,
the sand trickle down
flashbacks of her ballet time
her foot against the edge
and
the crows flew sideways that day
she looking out with eyes closed
wondering if tomorrow she’d be so brave
flashbacks of her walking away
The Tape House 