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We Couldn't Find PolarisYour mother stayed inside reading National Geographics. It was day and we danced in Lake Michigan. You threw a football with your dad, your cousins. I watched you plunge again and again.We Couldn't Find Polaris
It was night; your family had told me that the sunset was nothing special, I'd have to come back another day. We coasted across the black water looking up. You said that was the milky way, that was the little dipper; we watched the unfolding of the universe and realized how young we were. We couldn't find Polaris. I counted time to the hum of a motorboat and your breath.
by ~Jellygraph
cold inkI have tried many times to write you down, defining your body, your child-face, the gentle tilt of your arguments. I have tried to draft the curve of your spine as you sleep, cold ink guessing at each vertebra.cold ink
It is tiring, many times to write for you, who are not a poet, not a words worth; my sentiment(al) is lost by the time you read the first line:
Doesn’t that sound a little melodramatic?
I have tried when groping tight-breathed and missing in the night, when I turn into my own smal
by ~Jellygraph
dims. There was the tender in your spatula, your heavy wok, and hiding there between the fires, a soul, a soul.dims
Mother, I am mold-born under your cutting board. In the moist creases
you thumped me into being, your knife a silver flashing the first light
I knew.
There was the sound of oil, the sputter, the heat of chiles, the work, flitter in your fingers. The sound of loud voices, the tang of hearts burning in the air.
There was me, the small cocoon beneath your wa
by ~Jellygraph
girl, oceanThis photo beats against the sound of clocks, and shadow-whales stop their belly-crawl.girl, ocean
We are young. Yes, that’s you, baby, your eyes reeled to the camera lens like fishes.
You are twice me, baby, and in the slow of long-stretching nights, licked lips and unwindings, you are dense in the air, a rumble that raises the hair in my ears, an image untethered from its backdrops.
I am losing my child-will, my run-around in the wake of coffins, open- ended, a pale girl suspended. The waves wash around my feet. &
by ~Jellygraph
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Ann Arbor, MI
- Interests: spelunking
- Favourite movie: Gattaca, Spirited Away, Pride and Prejudice, Wonder Boys, Life as a House, The Virgin Suicides
- Favourite band or musician: Fall Out Boy, Something Corporate, Brand New, Straylight Run
- Favourite poet or writer: O.S.Card, Fowles, Faulkner, Erdrich, Austen, Pullman, Salinger, Plath, Eliot, Ginsberg, Hughes
- AIM: marywithoutwings
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its not too late to become what you were meant to be
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its not too late to become what you were meant to be
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its not too late to become what you were meant to be
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its not too late to become what you were meant to be
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its not too late to become what you were meant to be
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