I snuck the two in red wax,
tilting to the ether,
so slim.
Splintered wood stands stuck,
yet still santal, still sweet.
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It’s evergreen Alaska, glacier snow.
‘Not long to go’, the trees reply
to the bear’s stomach rumble, grumble
the rain from molecular skies.
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Step ONE: What is a ghost?
A ghost is a wish
regret
alive
a fantastic starting point for the exploration of houses.
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When I was first told
my voice has an “international twinge”,
I felt a deep pang of sadness,
unspoken shame.
The whiplash of an unintended insult
staining my cheeks childish.
The word “outsider” hidden in the subtext,
another reminder: “you don’t belong here”.
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It’s 4am again,
I wish my mind would rest.
My worries replayed, amplified, on repeat,
our brains remember things, you see.
Pausing and replaying my worst days,
a highlight reel of mistakes I’ve made.
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Planting a tree for my future daughter
so she’ll have a patch of shade to read under,
to hide from the house
when the walls get too tall,
and advice from her mother
means nothing at all.
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You Sir,
think your eyes are so keen when they see My lumps and bumps as this burned up broken thing
Pinched between My fingers and the gaze of this world
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Each day at noon,
I visit you,
Knocked on your door,
Fixed by the bolt,
Peered through the foggy windows,
Blurred by thoughts.
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Arctic air on your first snow day.
You never knew how harsh the wind can be.
How it can crack your lips,
Freeze your eyelashes,
Bloody your fists,
And get our mum to wrap you up so tight
That you can barely breathe
Through thick Everest coating.
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My heart didn't break
When we decided you couldn't see it anymore
Or that night when both of us
Broke that promise
In a silent, red regret
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“Why?”
A question. A simple word.
Drawn out disbelief in the stale air, cradled by your absence.
One lingering syllable left on my tongue,
remaining denial, reaching out, grasping for you.
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Fickle humans with our love
Condemning nature from above
We sit beneath such beauteous trees
Yet they cannot begin to please
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