first lines: “tell me the past.”
“which one?”
yours? it’s blurry, out of place,
out of order – you probably
loved your father at some point,
but it’s a candle-holder now.
it’s tricky, covered up in fur
because it was too cold sometimes.
i can’t, darling, for the life of me,
figure out what your animal was.
mine? it’s a dead dragonfly
on my pillow, messing with
my dreams. a garden snake
fucking up my insides, coiling
its way through filth, rising up until
there’s vomit at the back of my
throat. i must have loved a lot of
people who didn’t deserve it.
they must have stabbed me at least
once. i might have even returned
the favor. it’s meeting eyes with
a wild cat and finding out who
breaks first while i have never quite
figured out how to play that game.
the world’s? it’s saddening. we want
to elevate ourselves emotionally but
often refrain from doing so. i watch
lovers lose their words in a fiery heat,
battles of hands and hands in different
places, vulnerability won when the man
hears her sigh. i watch frowns of
disapproval for the strange, smiles
for the kind-hearted on the street.
the orchids blooming, the trees
swaying, the way we are always,
always searching.
requiem 