• brynn

and this grief is an ocean

please, don't fight. just listen. you owe it to me.

when i breathe, i deflate.

without you here, i don't know when to sleep, or wake up. i do little of either.

but don't follow me. don't look back, and don't say i didn't try.

for all our unfinished games, our furrowed brows and missing socks: don't miss me, don't miss me.

for every single drink you drank, i counted;, and for all the food i watched you refuse: don't say i don't eat enough. i can, and, i might.

and for every tremor in our dappled universe: why did we move the way we moved? together, and now apart? for every quake: what gave me pause, or made my throat thick with fear?

i'll tell you now. in this infinitely late hour, finally, if infinitesimally, intrepid. i don't miss you at all.

(and when i say dappled, i meant it all: the tongue, the shoulders, the shoes, the mind.)

i miss myself,

before i was yours.



(2011)

6 views

Recent Posts

See All

cocoon

change is not a swift thing, but a stagnant or slow-moving pond, accompanied by the cracking of dry sticks or bones. there are setbacks. the child emerges without a face, without a gender, without a r

all sugar

i. here is the vast sea of winter, and my heart is a tiny stowaway. planks creak and nag, beams shift and i draw deep lines with my pacing. the pulse deadens. i am bailing out buckets upon buckets of

convergence.

tell me about the cold, i say. you cannot fathom the sounds; or the vast, blue distances that compose her working memory. she speaks to me in sea water, in blue solitude and salinity. she speaks only