Poems

tattoos

i don’t have tattoos.

no flora, fauna, or stars.
no names, dates, or quotes.

i don’t have tattoos.

i see them on others —
beautiful and telling.

some meaningful,
some nonsense.

some unique,
some not.

stories on skin —
but i don’t have tattoos.

i don’t have skin worth sharing:
a peacock without feathers —
without eyespots.

i don’t have tattoos —
but my skin isn’t bare.

my skin has stories too.

my skin has a smiley face.

i burned it into my thigh
when i was fifteen with
a cigarette lighter.

my skin has white lines.

i carved them into my arms
when i was sixteen with
a kitchen knife.

my skin has
no flora, fauna, or stars.
no names, dates, or quotes.

it has scars.

some meaningful,
some nonsense.

all unique.

beautiful and telling:
telling of who i am.

a peacock,
who has feathers after all.

a peacock,
who fans out their tail.

my eyespotted skin.

i have tattoos.

hair

she used to play with her hair
when she was thinking.

an unfurled labyrinth —
her fingers would be lost.

twirling, pulling, scrunching.
her ideas were in her hair —
not her head.

i’ve always bitten my nails
but she didn’t care for this.

she had her hair.

i would watch her stim:
eyes strained and strands
laden with jumbled and
sorted thoughts.

sometimes we would lock
eyes — we’d both blush.

that was before
her doctor visits.

tests, scans, biopsies.
before chemotherapy.

before her maze of hair
was slowly unraveled.

before she was bald.

today she stims
with a bald head
and weak body.

her fingers are still
shepherds of thought.

with my head on her chest:
twirling, pulling, scrunching.
she plays with my hair.

my head rises and falls
with each of her breaths.

it trembles with the beats
of her withering heart.

thump thump

thump

Pool Party

I nearly drowned when I was very young:
Underwater, I choked and I flailed my arms.
The sight of water makes me so high-strung
And I wish my brain didn’t ring these alarms.

Hot beach trips — I’ve spent them ashore, alone.
My friends would splash in the cooling water
And I watched the fun from my hot sand throne.
My mind would scream as my feet grew hotter.

There was a time — the summer last year —
I followed you to your friend’s pool hangout.
You promised me you’d swallow all my fear;
Only you could help me drown all my doubt.

I shook in the rippled mirror, my chest tight —
And ran from you and the pool’s edge in fright.

Oh Willow,
How I Miss You So

The sounds of laughter echo in my mind.
A band of boys with bright and joyous smiles
Under the old willow all intertwined.
In its roots we buried our dreadful trials.

Days spent with Curt and James and Kenneth K,
We would giggle and play and cry and sing.
The willow absorbed all we had to say
With bark so soft it soothed every bee sting.

Days when rain lashed us or the sun seared us,
But like soldiers in a trench, we held tight.
Unarmed and shielded by each supple truss.
The willow fought wars, ones we could not fight.

The willow was felled before our lit eyes,
Its burning stump erupting with past pain.
Nothing hung over us but parlous skies.
These unearthed pangs still fester in my brain.

life at sea

lone boat in a bay
oars glide through the glassy sea
moonlight slowly slain
fires ashore whirl in my eyes
my home burns around my son

alone in a boat
bow adorned with glaring gold
gems and bare benches
others’ heirlooms lie with me
hollow jewellery and no son

an orange collage
black blots writhe and rest in sand
my life lived at sea
on through the bay’s yawning mouth
waves ebb ash from my slain son