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Literature Text
(1.)
It’s just on two years
just after 4:30am
and you’re calling
and you’re crying
and you say my dad died
and my very first thought
on the bleak and empty porch
in the grey/green light of the Bay
with the promised sun
still caught below the waterline
is that I will see you again.
(2.)
Sarah
I’ll come for you in Colorado
and carry you to California
I’ll wipe the salt from your burning eyes
and listen
to the childhood memories
of you so young
and vibrant wild
I’ll take the sorrowed sobs
from your tired, worn-out body
and place them into mine
we are bruised and we are broken.
But I promise
I can fix this
and in the early hours aftermath
of your midnight, melancholy dreams
I will look down upon you
and stroke your sun bleached cheeks
and somehow, before the rising sun
we can, the two of us pretend
I gave us both a better chance.
Sarah. Let me carry you to California.
It’s the only thing to save me.
It’s just on two years
just after 4:30am
and you’re calling
and you’re crying
and you say my dad died
and my very first thought
on the bleak and empty porch
in the grey/green light of the Bay
with the promised sun
still caught below the waterline
is that I will see you again.
(2.)
Sarah
I’ll come for you in Colorado
and carry you to California
I’ll wipe the salt from your burning eyes
and listen
to the childhood memories
of you so young
and vibrant wild
I’ll take the sorrowed sobs
from your tired, worn-out body
and place them into mine
we are bruised and we are broken.
But I promise
I can fix this
and in the early hours aftermath
of your midnight, melancholy dreams
I will look down upon you
and stroke your sun bleached cheeks
and somehow, before the rising sun
we can, the two of us pretend
I gave us both a better chance.
Sarah. Let me carry you to California.
It’s the only thing to save me.
Literature
Kintsukuroi: A Rensaku
In my rested palms
and your shoulder-neck's hollow,
in these expanses
did
Literature
don't say no
they had said,
long before i met you
that the truth is known for its
characteristic
punch in the gut;
it picks at the skin
on your forehead till it
peels off like the zest
of a pregnant orange,
bitter on your fingers
but so sweet
on your tongue.
pain
is a typical symptom
of truth but
no one ever said
that you would exhaust
the sweetness
by the time it was
my turn to listen.
Literature
You can't have it all
but you can have the glazed heat bursting from the blacktop like a broken
fire hydrant. You can have the jangle of keys
swinging from your hip with each stride.
You can have the tactility of leather and the graze of
bathroom mosaic tiles under a cold shower pelting
bullets and when the water cuts off
you can have dry book pages. You can have happiness,
though it will often be bitter, like finding a stranger’s
wallet full of pictures of smiling children until you
return it to find that the couple is barren.
You can have the scratches on the back of his knuckles,
faded, yet raw. You can have the translucency of sheets
in the sun, silhoue
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Seeing single words upon a line in the first stanza threw me off a little (but since I learned poetry rather formally in school, I suppose that is just one more mould to break through). Getting past that mental block, though, was quite rewarding. I like the little details you put in that connected the stanzas, and how the way you separated everything makes for a very intuitive read - the words flow quite nicely, and the emotions are vivid. I can almost hear it being narrated to me, and see the memories stated.