there is something about his
hands as he sits behind
this woman who is supposed
to be someone he knows,
the way his fingers poke and
prod at the mess of tangles
that hug her nape
(the way his sticky child fingers
tracked popsicle juice there
gemstones of KoolAid
long before the skin
succumbed to wrinkles and spots)
it is what has become of
a braid that he had
put up two days ago;
someone has attempted
to undo it
and failed miserably
— he cannot imagine
that it is
something she
would do
because she has
never failed
(yet)
he feels the tremors
in her voice
in her hands
in her eyes
the way they dart over
everything as if it is
unfamiliar
(not somewhere he
has lived for the past
fourteen years
and she for the past
twenty)
as if she is not
the person who
bought the place
signed a cheque with
her own two hands
and a cherry-coloured pen
that is hidden somewhere
deep inside of her
bureau
(when she vanishes
it will vanish with her)
his fingers harden
at his side
his mind twists knots
out of his heart
(how can she be alive
and yet never living?)
he is unbraiding her last
braid tonight
he can tell from
the way her hair feels
like something
worn and faded
(the pages of a story
whose spine is giving
out
pages dripping like wax
down a dying candle
her light is flickering
he has matches
but he cannot burn
something that has
nothing left to
be consumed)
— he has never learned
how to properly
tie off a braid
perhaps that is why
this braid has succumbed
to this
(he knows it is not)
(he desperately wants
to pretend)
she lies in bed
the last kiss of breath
floating off her lips
the way she used to kiss
him after she returned
from work
dropped costco bags on the
linoleum of the kitchen
lipstick petals
on the corners of
his temples
his lips
her fingers hang
off the edge of the
bed and from them
dangles
a hair tie
(a black 'O')
as in 'knOw'
('nO')
a black hole
that has finally collapsed
in on itself
and shows only its
shadow
(her hair is strewn
like an explosion
over the top of her
pillow
unbraided)
YOU ARE READING
0;00
Poesíaa collection of random pieces of poetry that i've written in 2023. (really, anything from love to surrealism.) huge thanks to anyone who reads this; most of the stuff in here probably makes absolutely no sense (even to me, lol). mostly inspired by t...
