thing grief

I do a little double dutch with
loathing
hating myself then
loving then hating then
loving then 

hating then
loving then landing
on something about solitude
and legacy
and longing

for the way my parents divided up the treasures 

of my childhood

the equation nearly always tipping sisterward

sent priority to St. louis

a simple algebraic study of

tensors, space

a quartz island, a basement for storing

my little alligator with the snapping jaws and

the German candle pyramid that 

mesmerized with its mystery flame wind

Oatmeal the bear a prince amongst dust bunnies

stuffed in a box

in the house that is too big and too fine

in the basement that floods

that will keep flooding 

sending

an end-times river of my favorite things 

drifting dreamily, nightmarishly

down pointer lane

and I am 4 and elated

and 34 and bereft

and 17 and certain

and 11 and scared

and confusing legacy with prophecy

maybe

and wanting to know to whom

and for when

and mostly where

I should leave

the fish dish and the oak duck

with the hollow bowl of a back

black silk coat of bearded irises

the luck cat who may or may not wave

when ink blots out the sun

the little star map of a lap quilt 

which might prove useful

and the smiling cumulus alarm clock 

that will stop keeping time

if or when the world

ends

The Smell of Water

Abigail rising, my mum, her party, almost 

one acre to put the dog out to pasture, 

cows so close in the mornings,

my dropped ts slowly returning with every tsk

Trees that rarely fell, so thick with tree

we would level with the rooftop with

no real sense that we were even

up there.

Cows in the mornings, cows receding

up the hill, cows giving birth on 

the horizon, cows watching cows in

labour all day.

Where does the water taste, where?

Did its metals fortify me when I moved

to town? I knew remoteness once

and the night demon that shifts

my hips in clubs is just that,

wants me to know what it is

to need water, to taste water.

Packed spaces remind me how jarring 

they are as is the sulphurous solitude

pouring forth from the country tap.

Perfect lovers train

If he’s around the corner
Then I stopped to tie my shoe
At the right moment
If she’s in the line ahead of me
My groceries aren’t too heavy 
to carry home in one bag
If we hate each other at times
It could be the synastry
If we bore each other
We’ll walk in opposite directions 
Until there’s something to talk about again
If I don’t falter when I swipe my metro card
I’ll catch a glimpse in a passing train
Of all the lovers I could have been

Regarding perfect lovers...

i want a lover who looks me in the eye. 

i want a lover who loves my cat. 

i want a lover who doesn’t talk when hiking. 

i want a lover who purposefully goes to therapy. 

i want a lover who wants to melt with me, who wants to feel my fingertips move slowly over their skin, who wants to move their fingertips slowly over mine.

i want a lover who creates, who is a creator. 

i want a lover who has room for the bigness of me in their heart, and isn’t too afraid. 

i want a soft and hard lover. 

i want a lover who is good at things i’m not, like making coffee and singing and camping, remembering to do taxes and birding and making green things grow and other things, too.  

i want a lover who inspires me, who is a little bit or a lot bit magic. 

i want an earnest lover. 

i want a lover who has faith. 

i want a lover who won’t touch me when i sleep, and doesn’t snore or grind their teeth. 

i want a present lover, who takes the time to go and be slow.

i want a lover who likes holding hands in public. 

i want a lover who is glad that i am wed to the earth.

i want a lover who wants to make home with me. 

i want a lover who will tell me when i’ve hurt them, and help me love them better. 

i want a sexy lover, with nice lips and a firm grip, who thinks i’m sexy, too, who loves the way i move. 

i want a lover who drinks alcohol, but not too much. 

i want a lover who loves classic country music. 

i want a story-telling lover. 

i want a lover who isn’t afraid of the dark, or the light. 

i want a lover with personal flair, and oddities. 

i want a lover who will tell me why they love me, and mean it, and show it. 

i want a joyful and playful lover. 

i want a lover who thinks and feels and cares deeply, and shares their thoughts and feelings and cares with me, and isn’t too afraid, or is and does it anyway.  

i want a lover who knows the work of dreaming and healing and learning and changing is never complete, just like this list.