I have been writing about us,
fervently, constantly, and endlessly,
so we don’t one day become memories – ashes
of a great fire that once burned down an entire city
in my chest.
Untitled
every night before I fall asleep
in the most gentle way
I talk to myself
I tell myself the most beautiful thing
that you have not the courage to tell me
“I love you
I love you
I love you …”
Final Chapter
The last pot of tea sits on my
kitchen table, morning has arrived
with its white curious light.
Will you come inside so I can see you?
I have so much to tell you about being alive.
I want to tell you that between
all my chaos and passions, between this
breath and the last, all I really want
is to walk gently through life
under the foliage of the beautiful souls
that once have intertwined with mine
through love
I want to hear the music that the sun
is playing, and to recognise it
in every song we’ve danced to,
so in this way I could come close
to Heaven on earth.
I want to write about everything
that I ever dreamt of, until each
of my finger becomes a lovely
poem, and
as the sun rises above the pink sky;
as I slowly close my tired eyes,
my hand touching another’s
endlessly.
Hi, Jesse
That night in Schenley Park
on top of your old Ford
we watched the stars for hours.
We didn’t know that those stars
were already dead. We didn’t know
it was the beauty of the past
that made us kiss for hours.
When we were young it was
difficult to fathom how
we could end up all alone
in each other’s past.
But in the slow burning
of time, you have become
one of the men I’ve loved
dearly and then lost,
and I, together with every
dream we shared for the future ,
have come to be a tiny star
in the vast sky that is yours.
Spring
Even when we talk, we share
between us an infinite silence.
Beneath all the small words we give
each other, “how was your day?”
“look, the sun is setting.”
there is a silence as patient as
the warm soil of a spring garden
under which seeds of desire sleep.
Untitled
Homesick
I saw you today
on the crowded street.
You stood at the bus
stop, with November
sunlight falling on
your broad shoulders, and
I don’t know why but
I thought of my old
hometown that I left
many years ago,
a place that had given
me so much happiness
before life pulled me
away elsewhere, and years
stacked up like bricks
until home became
a place of longing;
a place no longer
easy to return to.
The bus came and you
are gone. It had been
years since we’ve spoken
of love, of us, of going
home together. And I
want to go home
someday, one day,
today I want to
go home to you.
Heirloom
Full Moon
Tonight I miss someone but don’t know who.
I am homesick but don’t want to go home.
Tonight is one of those nights that I roam
through the streets, out of breaths, a restless soul
synching her own heartbeat to the rhythm
of the pulsating stars. Tonight I fall
into the unknown space between two
seasons, the lonely cocoon of October.
Tonight is one of those nights that I lay
myself down under the full moon, waiting
silently and faithfully, until I
soar into bright light as a butterfly.
Before Morning Comes
Take off whatever it is that
you put on yourself each morning.
the smiles smeared on your lips even
though sadness sits heavy on your laps;
the yes that you push down your
throat even though your body screams no;
the I’m okays you keep inside
your pockets in case the world wants to know;
The strength you’ve been strapping onto
your heart, and the weary heart that you
no longer know where to put down
at the end of each day.
Here, you can put them all down in my hands.
Because tonight I am sitting here
with you in your room, inside this
warm yellow light.
We have hours before morning comes.
And you don’t have to say anything.
SW Altair 