13.05.22
01:05
The bloodwork came back. It didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but now each morning, I dip my chin forward to swallow vitamin D pills; I take my coffee with an unleveled tablespoon of sugar. I wiggle my toes in the puffy thicket of a cottony belly, and it reminds me of twisting hands busting open cattails like a canister of fluffy, white confetti. I'd like to sprout an herb garden in the bed of my nails-bunches of chocolate mint and sweet marjoram, pineapple sage and coriander. Pack recycled egg cartons with dampened dirt; stamping each pocket with the dome of my pinkies to make tiny, loose craters; bury black, beady seeds and hope the roots take. I am hiding nasturtium stones in a half-empty drinking glass. I am tucking them behind the semolina in the pantry. I am looking up recipes on how to roll out fresh pasta, I'd like to drape June afternoons, the counters, and the sills in dusty golden spools. I'd like to learn to kiss by rubbing flour dotted noses. I am throwing stacks of cardboard out the window and into the garden. There's enough to stoke a fire and feed its hungry babies. There's enough to finally keep our winter bodies warm. This is a poem that doesn't make me feel anything bad at all.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
