On the Kitchen Floor in a Grimy Towel

I need precision like a face needs eyes,
like wind that can’t help but wrinkle,
I need reasons to erode the pounds
that drill bruises into my skin. Like you,
I have made the mistake of being too tired.
I have let all the vegetables rot on the counter
and there’s the sound of everything dropping
away at once. I am eating spoiled
thoughts of you like fodder. I’ve been
spilling urgency without noise
and describing how to be yellow
without lemons. I am the woman desperate
enough to buy pink pianos. I can’t play
and I rest my face in the ink of feeling,
more missing than a kid in the arcade,
the taste of sweaty cheer and disappointment
in flashes. Let’s say it now so we feel okay:

Let’s save each other for a time that won’t happen.


4 thoughts on “On the Kitchen Floor in a Grimy Towel

      1. It would be more productive of me to read all your verse and scrap my lesson planning, but then I’d have no job by Tuesday. My five rushed minutes on your blog was worth an hour.

      2. I completely understand you there! I’m actually working on a lesson plan as well. Cheers to responsibility. Thanks again for visiting my blog. 🙂

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