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
You know up and down what real love is My god, have you felt and known that before You see it traveling through your own veins Sparkling bright on the kitchen floor
I decided to Write myself a love letter Because who really knows Me any better?
What do I keep hurting myself for Nobody’s looking in the mirror but you I keep on dreaming what life has in store But spin in circles until my knees fade to a distant blue It’s so chaotic living like this Never licking icing off the birthday cake Consumes me like frostbite by the lake The peak of my landscape of moth wings And when I take the time to Unpack my belongings I suddenly realize My god, I’m in love with everything So why do I Keep feeling like this Like I’m the only one Like I’m the only one Like I’m the only one
Love poem: Moth wings (continued)
We could see the winter snow again Buy the coat with the elegant faux fur You don’t even have to make amends Cos even God knows talk of sin is absurd We could see Lake Michigan freeze to death While what’s underneath simply carries on One day I’ll get out of bed Just in time to watch the morning’s sun
You know back and forth what real love is My god, you feel it now, just like you did before Watch it coarse through your own stunning veins Opulence and nervousness on the closet floor
Love poem: Moth wings (continued)
You’re too young to be afraid Too old to hesitate We can swim right in the lake ‘Till your body collapses on the seashore
So I decided to write a love letter to myself Not because men let me down But because the sound waves miss my eardrums I go days without hearing a sound But god, I love the tone of my own voice Think it’s so funny that I picked up a southern accent Next time someone says my name I’ll remember I’ve been heaven-sent
Love poem: Moth wings (continued)
I can swim right in the lake In the city of my dreams ‘Till my pale body collapses on the seashore Flooded with hope like the legs of a millipede I am warm and fragile and cold My hair tends to burn if it’s by the fire But my New Year’s resolution will still be to be ‘comfy cozy’ If I said I was suicidal, I’d have to be a liar
I can swim right in the lake Lick frostbite like it’s ice cream Knowing I’d have to seek urgent care Hold myself real tight, several times during the day Feel the humidity of the shower when I’m bare I’m a mother to my children and myself Lover of trucks, flowers, rose petals, and guns I can stick around for a while
Just because I think it’d be fun.
Like I’m the only one Like I’m the only one Like I’m the only one With moth wings
My day in the blistering sunshine I wish your hand was latched onto mine Except when you held it too tight, it hurt, and I said nothing because I was engulfed in the ivory, acrylic paint of the walls I wish you could soothe me like you do your male friends
I got, rather presumptive I thought we could make it work because it felt so worth it Like the tides would change & our circumstances wouldn’t get the best of us When I fell into old subservient patterns, That I thought I wouldn’t I said, screw it We could work through it But the tables that turned against me had thorns My blood wasn’t well & I was increasingly worn Down by the extent of which, I wanted it to work A violent but quiet discomposure
Love poem: If you could, just, sing to me (continued)
Down by the bayside I’ll never forget when an acoustic version of a song I loved in middle school (still do) came on You threw your head back and sang so softly I found it mildly alarming how awfully charming And crisply ambient the evening felt right then and there My eyes started to tear, and I wiped them real fast I thought if it could be like this, we’d be golden Nothing to take & everything to give That is the drawback to my diplomacy It doesn’t quite work out for me
Now I’m basking in the feverish sunshine Hearing the lyrics in my mind How true they conform to the set of conditions that unveiled my gentle but muted position I wanted all of it to feel just like that Right then and there, I was far too aware That you are a beautiful human being only when you get what you want
Love poem: If you could, just, sing to me (continued)
But I can’t always play the right song And moments in passing affect my brain far too strong I latch on
If we could have just stayed at that stop light forever We would’ve made it work If you could have sang lullabies to lull me to sleep We still couldn’t have made it work
My father taught me how to shoot Oh, he sure did, he taught me real well But I’m a very sensitive girl What would I really do if I was in front of you? I don’t think I’d pull the trigger
