Burnt

Move on, my mother told me.

If you wait for him,

you will be an old woman.

But how long does someone wait

when they would walk through fire

to reach you?

Three Years

You told me the love story of how your mother and father met. They were young. They loved and left. Three years later they found each other again, somehow, by chance. Love returned. I loved this story. I guess, I thought, if I waited long enough you would come back to me too. We would have that epic love story that was always on the precipice, on the tips of our tongues, in the way you would look at me, in the way I would look at you. But the years passed, in seasons, in ups and downs, as life always does, and we did cross paths, lives, even bodies; I let you into my home, my bed. But you were a visitor and you never quite returned to me. You were older now, ambitious, but still the same to me. I was older now too, you said, all grown up, 25. It’s funny. But in my mind I was still 22, right there where you left, like a child I stood, just waiting for you to come back home. 

Ours

Ours was a love story told many times before.

How we found each other without looking and how it lasted for as long as it could.

I will always remember that corridor behind that green door in that quaint little city.

How we would both call it home for a year.

Midnight Blue

You were with me when I had my mid-twenties crisis

And cut off all of my hair

Even you could not save me from myself

I know you would try

Madness runs in my family, I’d say, laughing

A cherry stem between my teeth

Chunks of midnight hair in my hands.

WOMEN

My Acrostic poem for International Women’s Day 2019.

W ild Women, hear us roar. We have been rising from the ashes for years. Did you see us coming?

O ur ability to be what we want to be in Society today. The votes, the choices we have. The sacrifices our predecessors made. But how many women all over the world are still fighting to get their voices heard?

M en we call you to arms to support us as we promise to support you. We know the world is tough on you too.

E pitome of strength and courage. Do you hear how fierce our hearts beat? Does it scare you or does it make you proud? Of your daughters, your sisters?

N ow it is our time to remind the world of our journey. Do you see how far we have come? Do you see how far we have still to go?

The Flower

I was that little girl who would water dead flowers to try to bring them back to life

Who grew into a woman who would love and give too much.

Even now, I am sad when fresh flowers, vibrant and beautiful, die.

I think that was how you left me in the end. Unwatered and clinging to life. 

The Goddess and the Sailor Boy

The secrets of us were tucked between my ribs

With writings of love and loss and

inklings of passion, betrayal

The story of a goddess and a sailor boy

her palm pressed against the milky moon

How she tried to keep him close with incantations

But always knew he belonged to the waves of the sea

and there was no keeping him from it

The goddess was seasick but the sailor was free.

The Blooms

 I bought myself flowers through sadness

Or sadness through flowers, I could not tell

but with the hope that their blooms would lift lift lift me up away from the dirt the rot the human disappointment.

I often dream of those spring walks with you when I would pluck flowers from the ground, sprinkling earth from its roots, velvet petals against my nose, my cheeks,

but my nails would dig into their stems, your flesh, as I clung to you both,

And you,

Always there with a smile and a no.

The Magic Women

I often see folklore tales in my dreams

Of sorceress women and waning witches

With ropes around their necks or flailing in black waters

They are always beautiful 

with night sky skin and milky white eyes

but the men who hunt them say 

Their beauty is threatening just like

The runes and healing stones that they clutch to their breasts

What do they know? Is always the question, 

a crystal ball, a palm reading, a fortune-tellers kiss,

Look what I see, they say in unison, a smile playing on their lips,

each with a single tarot card between their teeth.

The Wild Girls

The wild girls run

With Hellhound hearts

and pretty boys who did not stand a chance

Whiplash kisses

and mistakes they held like trophies

All the things you’d say to make them stay

The come-to-bed eyes, the bottles of gin, used matches

an Intoxication anomaly but

There is fire in you yet, your mother said,

Do you remember? That guilt you never wore again.