Poem: Cushion-cut sparkles & your vinyl on my wall

My favorite time in Chicago is when it snows

The happiest, the saddest

My father never met my lover

Wash my soft, graceful face with rosewater
He never told anybody but I know I was his favorite daughter
We weren’t the kind to shop in departments
Me and my collages, alone in my apartment
The brick wall where I hung your vinyl cover
That I took on polaroid
In the Spring

Every birthday of mine is spent at a rose garden
Didn’t catch your last insult, I beg your pardon?
I’m decaying slowly
Can everyone tell?
A marine biologist
Tall, and bright in his field
Who only owns one plastic shell
He says the real things – they never actually sell
A set of crucifixes, medium-well
You cheat on your wife, your friends never tell


I’d never depart

I loved to love you; you loved to be loved by me

I remember when.

My engagement ring
Beloved thing
Almost died, how beautiful of a Spring
I love diamonds, yes I do
The shine, the glamour
Reminds me of somebody I think about being
But have no route to that sort of life
See the deep amber skies
Can’t ever tell if people are saying hello or their final goodbyes
I’ve got the most beautiful green eyes
But a boy never told me that
And I don’t ever expect one to
I just read about it in the novels
Jane Austen, Aldous Huxley
Mansfield Park, Charlotte Bronte
Things fall apart
Oh yeah

In the mirror, I look so strange

Most scathing dissection of the hollowness
That American society barely trembles on
Dystopian but generic
I hate to speak out loud
Hate that irreversible girl sound
Hypnotic, devastating
Tell me I’m hopelessly divine!
I think I lost my tablet –
The great tragedy of our time!

I picked out my children’s names
Then decided to never conceive
Unless my husband said please
Chest to ground, down on his knees

When my lost love proposed to me
I had one beautiful engagement ring
Later that season
He said goodbye to me
I sold it for free

We shall part like the sea
As if it was ever to be
I would’ve died happily

I would’ve died gratefully


I would have died fulfilled and free
The lost art of caring for me





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