Butterflies

I wrote the original version of this in October 2016.  I didn't feel like it was finished, so I've been reworking it.



I remember the day you set your suitcases by the bedroom door.
That day was our forever.

I'd forget to breathe
when you stood close,
drowning in you
until your hands in my hair
brought me back to the surface
and made my skin burn for you.

I didn't know
what I wouldn't see.

You were never going to stay.

My void was most valuable
so I hollowed myself out
by plucking your promises from the air
and swallowing them whole
like chocolate covered razor blades
holding on to every accidental touch as proof.

I couldn't live up to your version of me.

I remember the day I found an empty home.
Your suitcases were gone.
The only thing you'd ever unpacked
was displeasure.

Ghosts

This house is full of ghosts
who do not want me here.

I am too full of life
and loud laughter
and fight
and passion for you.

They crowd us in your bed,
smothering me
as you sleep.
I whisper,
"I'm sorry, but I love."

They laugh at my destruction.
You roll over
with a gentle sigh,
oblivious to my fate.

Postmark

I am driving
a convertible
with the top down
through the desert
at sundown.

My hair whips around my face
in perfect waves.

In that moment,
I don't think
how I am one 80's song away
from being a cinematic cliche.

I smile
into the wind,
feeling everything.

I am celebrating my birthday.

This is my favorite memory.
Like all of my favorite memories,
I am alone.

I lie on my back
staring at the ceiling.

To my right
on the nightstand
is the postcard you sent.
The postmark
tells me I loved you first.
But these are things one does not say.

To my left
is an empty vase.
You almost brought me flowers once.

Rear View

My first kiss
tasted of
innocence
fresh cut grass
bike rides over long country roads
the breathlessness of not being caught
too young

My last kiss
tasted of
betrayal
wanting verging on desperate need
bourbon with one rock to chill but not to water down
the breathless dishonesty of hope
knowing better

"You can't keep driving while you're looking in the rear view mirror," he said.

When I Miss You

When I miss you
I sit on the empty bed
and stare
at the gifts ungiven
casting shadows of violence
across the walls

When I miss you
I take long drives
to lose myself
and I try not to remember
it was you who drove
while holding my hand

When I miss you
I find
the picture
of a painting
of me
and I try to understand
how you painted so much love into a canvas
while denying my skin

When I miss you
I stare
at your phone number
remembering
the hardness of your eyes
and the determination in your jaw
giving orders
for the bombing of our home
and I do not call

Paper Boat

Like a paper boat
in a tempest,
you left me shipwrecked
and drowning
in shallow water.

The ghosts gather in the reeds
like self-satisfied grandfathers
enjoying an after-dinner pipe,
guarding the woman in white
against your return
from across the bedroom.

The tattered paper
of her gown
flutters in the breeze.

I am free now from the storm.

butterflies

suitcases sat
feeling the absence of furniture

the only thing you unpacked
was displeasure
while spinning tales of our future memories
promising
i was
The One

i plucked your promises
from the air
and swallowed them whole
like chocolate coated razor blades

my void was most valuable
so i hollowed myself out
to make room
for the butterflies
that multiplied
with every smile and accidental touch

you were never going to stay
i couldn't live up to your version of me

the seasons are turning
your suitcases are gone
the butterflies flutter softer each day