This poem presents a contemplative stance on subtle experiences in life. It is a piece regarding the fractured relationship between two people and how often the moments of that given relationship impacts our skin.
sometimes i wonder:
if the crumbs collecting
on grit makes itself present
in people’s words —
whether the cleft of
our mouths taste like granite;
or whether we can plunge
ourselves in mother’s milk
to protect us from
waned streets;
i lied and said they were worthless
the rush of sour phrases
often i wonder if salt
has wedged into the back of
our throats
lemon sliced, tender
acrid smell coalesced with
softened mutters;
the pestle glides on
my lap —
i don’t even know if it worked
whether i left you enough
gristle to fulfill your desire —
to stuff side-swept deliberation:
i like to do this in a number of ways —
one, two, three
love no longer inhabits this body
we cradle red-wood language
and plant them near cherry trees;
but today
our skin lays molten
and carves metal out of ocean currents
