West Dale Palms boulevard Clover avenue I go to the grocery store And I run right into you Ask me how things are back home Do your days ever feel terribly long I say, I have to go Think I know the place where I belong
Hollywood, Los Angeles at dusk Her perfume smelled like camellias that bloom in November They look just like roses, so naturally I’m obsessed Swing the door open to a settled fire, Capture in my hands: tiny, soft embers Collapsing into moonlight, but Cradled like dust I’ll be strong for both of us If I must
Love poem: Grocery store [continued]
You have to feed your nostalgia sometimes It’s really the only way that you’ll survive It’s how you keep the dreams alive It’s the only way they’ll see you on the other side
West Dale Palms boulevard Clover avenue When I go to the grocery store I always look for you
Fresh lint from the dryer My niece is crying Because a boy pulled a baby-pink ribbon straight from her hair & I told her, don’t worry He didn’t take anything real from you The most genuine things are More intangible than they seem
So now I’m at the laundromat Watching my lavender and velvet blanket dry Something too delicate of material to end up in this white, vacant space But I have already been charged For a thousand liar’s crimes Not my own, but it’s easy to take the blame When the minds of the reckoners aren’t something you can change
Love poem: Passenger door // grocery store [continued]
I used to dream about being held By someone so powerful That they could both start and end bar fights for me Think I was in my early twenties So my wildest visions Would make little sense to someone truly thinking of settling down You have to act your age In this kind of upscale town
Then you handed me a receipt Me, counting your naturally full lashes How strong they must be and if only Mine were too To resist my pulling them out When I both do and don’t have free time Which my mother would say is a crime But laugh with me thereafter Because true love doesn’t see you in black or in white Genuine love both does and does not fight
Love poem: Passenger door // grocery store [continued]
Your voice was alarming Because it began softening Every tense fibre locked and chained to itself within my body I warm my shivering shoulders with how hotly My breath is on evenings Like this one, in which I could not care less about who or what surrounds you and me They are just bodies And you are warm nectar That only the most tender of creatures know how to find
I showed up on time Your shift is almost over But I am too shy So, I take my bags Spill a few things, say it’s alright “You don’t have to help me” (Oh man, but I want you to) Pretend I have plans when you ask what I’m doing (I am such a poor liar, the truth practically stained on my teeth)
I want you to go sit in the driver’s seat Open the passenger door for me
I am, a dandelion that’s losing its ligules A dandelion on the street Stepped on, on repeat – bracing the wind, but falling apart Missing my roots Crying because I won’t be in a vehicle with my father ever again But the koala-grey sidewalk embraces me like its only friend
Gasping, breaking, compact but fragile – for eternity Not asking anyone to save me Because rap songs taught me that’s commonly dismissed Neglected and disposed of (Why am I so delicate?) I breathe it and I love it, but God please help me, I’m exasperated I wear my orthodox cross like it’s the most expensive diamond given to a queen Nobody ever suspects a thing
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself (continued)
A guy once bought me, the most beautiful fiddle leaf fig tree That I picked out, of course Girl knows her houseplants My bedroom lacked the sunshine to keep my baby alive I wept on the floor staring at its fallen brown pieces Feeling like I was one of them Breaking for eternity Shrivelling up and no longer green, but serene I swallow the ground whole with my desire to love more than I ever have before Time, and time, again.
You know, a girl, who truly loves flowers Never “gets used” to receiving them Each time is special, savoured, like those commercials with women and chocolate I stop walking every few feet to capture a flower One day, a boy said to me, “do you have to stop every time” That was the end of him and I Of course, I do That’s what happens when you’re in love with white, pink, red, yellow, and blue The colours dash through your mind when you’re not scrolling on your phone Remembering the hydrangeas from Venice Beach The sunset blooms at the rose garden at the museum where you spent your birthday in your own solid company Breaking in composite structures Swallowing the rose petals on the ground
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself (continued)
The dandelions on the street Say something on repeat
They love me, they live through me They engulf quite the vast part of me And every piece of their frail self that flies away with the breeze Becomes deeply embedded within me And I love it, like cotton I roll it, like marbles If I’m ever, forgotten
I hope botany never is
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself (continued)
I know a girl That will never “get used” to flowers So endlessly abundant but single-handedly make this life worth it
They love me, they love me They live right through me I walk on the concrete Looking for myself
