rakda

Printed confessions viewed through running ink. Your eyeliner dripping off airbrushed cheeks. Yesterday’s headlines are a record of your life. Autobiographical snapshots; memories you paid to forget. “25 cents doesn’t buy as much as it used to” Milk carton kids and sepia circles around personals. We’re all broke across the answer to clue 6. You pretend it’s not a sequence of crossroads in word form. I’ll lock the door on the way out as the edges catch fire.

I paid homage to the cold, dead touch of your fingers. Icy spidering from blank eyes. There’s a brightness to your gaze but it’s a lie. Makeup pale whites over cheeks and the frost of your kiss. You’d freeze my bones before any warmth ever left you.

after Jeanann Verlee Dear joints, Thank you for my teenage years and my early 20s. Now let me take care of you. Dear nervous system, We’ve never really gotten along that well. Maybe we can change that. Dear stomach, I’m really, really, really sorry. Dear bones, We’ve managed to avoid several break ups so far. I hope that continues. Dear brain, I didn’t start to understand you until more recently. Friends?

Reasons to say ‘no’ a) this joke was old moments after it was made b) Reeboks turn sticky on hot asphalt c) I still can’t find that book I borrowed d) didn’t we already have this conversation? It’s not really multiple choice But we’ll pretend it is And everything will be fine.

Memories create optical illusions of distances The sounds of sandals on the boardwalk The sickly sweet powdered sugar and ice cream Sand underneath, between, sprinkled on toes Vanilla bean flecks against canvas skin There’s a tangle of breeze turning waves into rope Cries of birds and children, both fighting and playing Bodies turning red as sunscreen lays forgotten on the table, again

I’d like to start by offering my humblest apologies The chemicals I attempted to tame you with were a poor excuse You and my gut were on the same page before I realized I had tried to skip to the end of the chapter The support and communication you’ve offered to me has been invaluable May I start again? Do I have your permission? Can I walk by your side? Our conversation renewed, I’ll take a deep breath and listen. Dancing a cooperative rhythm once again I’m still learning how to be your friend, and you, mine Every stumbling step worth the miles of falling it took to get here

Sunlight burns my eyes. Blue sky searing retinas. The cloud I was watching, turned into a squirrel. What happened to your dragon?

Curate a collection of mismatched bottles. Displayed on a rough hewn shelf; contents unknown. When people ask what’s in them, say ‘Magic’. Visit the old willow tree at the edge of the abandoned farm no less than once a week. Leave gifts in the cradles. To appease fae folk, spirits, or critters, no matter. Run your fingers over the hedgerows but don’t touch. Their bite may not be obvious but a lack of thorns doesn’t preclude caution. Remember the balance of doorways, windows, a fallen branch. In between spaces carry their own danger and wonder and are frequently forgotten outside of buildings. Always keep an ear open for the language of the unheard. That wisdom will keep you safe when you feel lost.

I blanketed the stars in your tears. Fainting, falling in an expanse of swirling colors. Soaking into the cradle, stretching this so-called reality. Pull the edge, yarn unravelling in rips of iridescence, spilling slipping, tangles of light. Pinpricks of brilliance taking the place of your heart. And why shouldn’t it? Who wouldn’t want the shine of a million million tiny points of fire radiating from your skin. We’d call down the brightest, second star to the left, follow the northern cross into the forever and let the rest of the endless black crumble at the touch of our fingertips.

I felt her dark beauty roll over me. Waves of blackest despair riding over a mind tinged with falling violets. Seeing through it was impossible as making out the strands of hair she plaited. Deft fingers accustomed to filigree and sharp edges slicing through feelings. Drowning her tears in memories made of so much water and fallen petals.

Tick tick 1234 Check the door Check the door Check the door Did it lock Is it complete It is right? Tick tick Tapping Chewing Picking Touching Edge it closer But not too close Just So Straight lines And clean surfaces Make it all Face forward Or back But Not Both Less Is a breath Can I Please Breathe?

I could create a world with the sound of your voice reflecting sweet syncopation against the brashness of life

paths glowing softly with pumpkin light the leaves are just turning enough to see and I can watch the harvest storms roll through from the comfort of this battered old chair and the sweater I drown in the smell of apples and cinnamon waft up to tickle my senses as a warmth suffuses my bones

This is a prayer for all the little hearts that should not have stopped. For the beating of their frail wings against silent ribs. The slow pulse of words unsaid, things never forgotten, ghosts of regrets in the air. The way I wish I’d said goodbye that day. And how much I wish it really wasn’t. When the ringing of a bell could mean warning or danger instead of attention. How a life is only worth about thirteen cents, unless it’s undivided. And a flag half mast and words are all we can offer.