All posts tagged poem

summer girl winter Queen

Published March 17, 2014 by pipsqueak


Hades springs on me, I am a girl

he craves my blush, sweet flesh, my summer curls.

I calcify in that abysmal land

as he turns docile in my tiny hands

I gulp the wine that trickles from the dark

I am a coal mine waiting for a spark

desecration crowned me, I am Queen

naïveté turned into something keen

my wide-eyes summer is forever done

it wilts to rot beneath a bleaker sun

the warmth falls through my feet and wanders south

i drink the power from his seeking mouth


and in the spring she becomes a giant lung

Published May 6, 2013 by pipsqueak

expanding with a gasp, gulping in the fresh air
she unfolded herself and allowed herself to breathe
she is aerated, the yellow sunlight glowing through
her skin, illuminating that soft shadow of her bones
and the trails the mice gnawed through her
during the stiffling winter, when she was packed away
in moldering cardboard boxes in a musty basement
but now her thread-veins, which doodle through her flesh
like the roots of slender-stemmed violets.
they pump as lively quick as a baby bird heart.

some suggestions for the non-native speaker of my language

Published May 2, 2013 by pipsqueak

hello. i am not at the phone right now!

here are some options for leaving me a message:

cover my entire body in crackle nail polish so i have a thin, stylish shell

kiss me 3-8 times on the lips, and then once on the top of my head

drizzle brine onto my cheeks so i can pretend i was having a torrential weeping session

present to me an innocent handful of cake

swipe a new scar onto my gooseflesh

gallop down the streets at 3 in the morning with me on ever-restless legs

on re-meeting that child i babysat a year ago

Published April 23, 2013 by pipsqueak

the round eyes of this mini-monk,

fringed with the pale-blonde lashes of the very young,

regard me calmly

he was bouncing, boisterous, when i saw him last

and now he carries his ten years

on his small knobby shoulders

like the robe of a scholar prince

and seems taken aback at my manic pleasure

at seeing him ask polite questions, a tiny gentle man

he couldn’t see the change, he is change incarnate

i ask him if he still plays with legos

and i think he’s annoyed at the bittersweet poignancy i attach to this question

“yeah, but don’t seem so sad about it, so do you”

enemies and friends

Published April 18, 2013 by pipsqueak

my enemy is the sucking giant hole of apathy
i will sometimes crumble into
when i am too lacerated by shrapnel of the world
to fathom pulling myself from my cocoon of  sheets

when i read Google news
sadness slithers into me like heavy syrup
and bogs me down until i cannot move
the world is broken, why should i survive?

the answer is lies with my closest friends, who are:
the soft palms of the boy at the punk show
the femme fatale kiss of coffee
my best friend moaning about cinnamon popcorn
the chatter of those lovable assholes i hang out with

we pile damp twigs of discontentment
make sparks with hormones and rusty old lights
we shout as they wither and burst into flame

can poems change anything?

Published April 15, 2013 by pipsqueak

poem, i thought you were here for “closure”
what is that? it’s nothing i’ve known to happen
and liquid memories trickle through the seams
of the cardboard boxes in the attic of my mind

they cannot hold the gentle one i let wander too far in
even though i saw the thrash of agony in her
i didn’t know that she would grow so wrathful
and she barreled right through my ribs

and the fingerprints fade, but i can’t forget
the lattice of overwrought bruises
that we slapped on each other, plastering pains on pains
instead of making the slow choice to be gentle

worse than the slow-burn of pain, the flash of joy:
now i have ceded the authority of my reality
to those who have never learned my secrets,
not trusting the erratic flap of my own
butterfly-wing mind

put it down, let it go

Published April 7, 2013 by pipsqueak

maybe your voice was a sonic boom that shuddered my insides
the tiny quirks of your fingers traced sparks on my skin
and the contours of your mind were my favorite maze

maybe so, darling, but since then
i have yanked off the tablecloth, broke the bone china
you were so sad about the stains!

now my ears ring with the cacophony of breaking
we tiptoe backwards, crumbling away, stumbling over debris
and shouting apologies into the middle distance