Gnarled rest-home fingers— like roots coiling into themselves —remember their parents.
Do not count the minutes the hours the aches of your waiting the distance of touches Do not count the weeks the months the lines around eyelids the hairs turning grey Do not count the years the decades the blinks between birthdays the fathoms of remembering
we are doing a scene things are going great no one has forgotten a line, and everyone’s timing is on point a familiar little girl is peering in through the glass door behind the kitchen table we can just make her out she is very pretty, and is shyly mimicking our movements it looks like… Continue reading Outside of this sitcom
The world has always been this way —it’s only now that I can see. Children in their endless bubbles bound about like tiny giants; living lives that stretch far beyond their bursting point. All I do to console myself is admire such ferocious will.
I am cold fingertips pressed against a soft, mochi thigh; an obnoxious, novelty alarm clock. You are legs kicking under duvet sheets when I yell not to move! We are the fart you let out when shocked awake: we are momentarily trapped – warm and familiar – and though we will soon dissipate and be… Continue reading What happens under covers
Another day... another day... another day has passed away! Weep! And rejoice! Another day comes this way!
There are no wild geese performing semaphore to inform us of our place in any family of noble ideas. Here, pigeons hobble on their mangled feet, devouring public waste, and anything too weak to drag itself back to safety. No cave hides behind any waterfall for office workers to clamber into and cry for their… Continue reading Do not click here
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—date and time incalculable—to commemorate the passing of our one and only, our Everything. Taken from us far too soon, yet now at rest. Bow your heads before the final procession of innumerable pantheons! Nursemaids to every human privation, resplendent in their finest regalia; children of a golden light scattered… Continue reading Eulogy for the World
Common table sugar dissolving into mouthfuls of plain, sour yoghurt; your kisses after an argument, knowing the fights will continue after the make-up sex —galaxies dying on my tongue.
Get up from your bed, go out from your house, follow the path you know so well, so well that you now see nothing and hear nothing unless something can cry loudly to you, and for you it seems even then no cry is louder than yours and in your own darkness cries have gone… Continue reading Waking (by David Whyte)