top of page

Valentines Day

Bring in your dead,

she said.

So I dragged my lovers

out of the warm cocoons of my sheets

out through my crooked legs and my sweat-soaked arms

and watched as they clutched not at the bed, but

at their trousers, their watches, their wallets

such tangible treasures that they worship instead.

I walked down 17th street,

my body a mirror for the heat of the sun

the bodies were heavy (including my own)

and every single step, another lover said to me

don't let go; you're not ready.

He, of course, was right.

I waited until their protests

became my history, my poetry

under the cover of night.

11 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

she takes pieces

of me, little by little little bites sinking into old wounds every time and I let her because just like the trees open their hands to the snow I do love the idea of dying slowly loved and afraid and b

all she does

is write little books, is what I heard the husband of a friend say once. that's all she does, all day he said and she laughed and I nodded and felt my shoulders sink and remembered her laugh as I sat

acts of rebellion

acts of rebellion saying I love you but quietly, in a crowd listening instead of waiting to speak not now, mouth, shhhh not so loud leaving a space for anyone who needs it holding space for someone's


bottom of page