Wounds

I don’t want
to forget you.

I know
it will happen.

Space creates distance,
creates forgetfulness,

changes the tone
of our voices
till they are no longer
recognizable.

I wish I still had
a photograph
of you in my mind.

The one with you
in flannel and frown
looking after me
as I drove away.

I had hoped
to always remember,
despite oceans and deserts,
the way I hung on your lip
and sunk into your skin.

I never wanted the memory of
the strength of your arms,

the kindness in your touch,
the colors of your eyes
offering secrets and comforts,

all the reasons I told you
I would always love you

to slip from heart and mind.

I wish I still had
that slash in my heart
that bared your name.

The one time healed.
The one forgetfulness
is taking from me.

Not all wounds
are asked to mend,
some I would like to keep,
run my fingers
over scar tissue,
and smile
in sweet memory
of a man who
once gave me
the world.

backdrop

Dragonfly girl

I am the sound of
flapping wings
when no birds
are seen.

I am backdrop,
waiting in alcove
for a cue that has
never come.

I recognize the
vague expression when
I say my name
for the third time
but my ego has been
checked so many times
I can only surrender a
smile of compliance.

Was there ever
a time I wasn’t
easily forgotten?

I am a walk on,
a sideways glance,
a choked confession
moments too late.

Perhaps if I
took the time
to reinvent
myself I would
be able to
leave more
noticeable
footprints.

I can’t help
but to beg to
scar this world
in the worse
possible way
just to be
remembered.

Coastline

You can tell by the
arch of my back
I can keep afloat
long after the moon
rips her tides.

I am a better
swimmer than
most land
bound creatures.

I am resistant to
regain straight
legged pose.
I could never balance
well on dry land.

I am more elegant
in the surf.

I thought it
was the only way to
feel free until
my waves met your shore.

I did not grip
to your coast
because I thought
I would drown.

I held
on because I
couldn’t bare
to let you go.

At the Poetry Reading

I noticed you
looking at me
across the bar.

We exchanged a smile,
and I lowered my eyes
to your stare.

I have washed your
scent from my body,
yet I still shiver
from the remnants of
your touch.

I allow this.

I wonder who notices.
I wonder if they can
smell the sex in the air;

if the stain of seduction
is as apparent as the
cigarette smoke which
halos overhead.

Could they tell
I wanted to touch
you from across the room?

I know you were nothing
more than a two o’clock
storm that flashed through a
New Mexico afternoon drenching me
for in an uncontrollable downpour
before passing soundlessly over
the horizon.

I know the monsoons
of summer dry fast
as the sun returns
yet during all the,
reading and reciting,
souls poured across stage,
I couldn’t help but
summon the soft of
your skin under my nails.

Know Better

On Sunday’s twisted ankles,
I rise.

Crisp from the night
freckled forearm
was held in search light,
flesh exposed.

You spoke to me in my sleep,
slipped seeds inside the hollow of ear,
causing me to thrash against pillows,
desperate for you to tie me down.

As I shook into ripped sheets,
convulsed into the nook of your shoulder,
you held my tongue to the top of your mouth
and told me to breathe
normally.

You know better
than to fall for flattery,
and I know better
than to sweep a lock
of hair from your forehead
in hopes you will see me
for what I truly am.

It’s only a matter of time,
before you look across breakfast table
and wonder how you ever loved
a person like me.