I Miss Somebody Still Alive and Other Poems
I Miss Somebody Still Alive
I want to know why the ocean is always making believe. I
remember
my stomach churning, pretending I could ever
forget. Some sharp objects in the kitchen: the windows
when they finally breathe apart.
when they finally breathe apart.
After dinner I listen for insects. I’m still culling
through past languid afternoons:
writing in a blue journal, thinking
through past languid afternoons:
writing in a blue journal, thinking
somebody might notice. Now I want a child. Somebody to protect
from the papercuts. A dog I can call my own. Days when paintings
from the papercuts. A dog I can call my own. Days when paintings
become real.
If I told you of the dead animals
who used to follow me home
come nightfall, would you still think me to be the one
who used to follow me home
come nightfall, would you still think me to be the one
who could wade away your hours. I’ve told you
of my paper-worn fingers. The thinness
of my paper-worn fingers. The thinness
I always aspired to have
and never could see. I still find myself
weeping even when nothing comes to the radio but static. There’s
nothing
to it anymore: you could touch
weeping even when nothing comes to the radio but static. There’s
nothing
to it anymore: you could touch
my breasts and I would sob—with pleasure or with horror, I do not
know the difference.
know the difference.
Death, at points,
has come easily: the girl at camp I wanted
to befriend. Her sister was the one to find her,
the tight rope. I fear raveling; the neon-green walls
to befriend. Her sister was the one to find her,
the tight rope. I fear raveling; the neon-green walls
of my first apartment; the way flame never ceases
to grow. It’s not death I find strange.
to grow. It’s not death I find strange.
On simpler afternoons I want
the house. The picket fence built to keep the cat from roaming into
the public eye. To keep the days inside. To keep away the trains,
their departures, their arrivals.
the public eye. To keep the days inside. To keep away the trains,
their departures, their arrivals.
