Notes from the Red Couch
It's as if it knew
of the eventual parting, how when
you stripped the plant from the desk
it left a circle of dust
with our fingerprints trapped inside.
I know this now, know how eventually
there was an understandable panic,
that when we replaces me, the shift
makes the other seem invisible.
I am tired of that first person
just as that room tired of
our endless bargains & constructs
the notes from the red couch
that found their way into our voices.
I touched my lips to ensure
breathing was not optional,
tapped worry into my skin,
anything not to
touch you & shatter.
Apology for a Transference
Our voices are a light
under our skins. We infect
each other, glow pink.
I am what swarms, cheek full
of bees, barbs in my tongue,
your fat, swollen lip.
into the puncture, funnel
in the red light of your mouth.
I spill honey as I wander
through your body, sleep
in the ether of your breath.
Here, I want you
to say. Live here. My buzzes return nothing
drunk-dizzy, I wind out, fall into the cup
of your hand. In this light,
my stings are irrelevant.
In this light, we harden to wax.
While You Were Writing in My Chart
Your ink falls,
little blue bombs on white paper.
A burst pen loses itself, swirls
in its own confusion of clear plastic
I know the fine points
of broken objects
how veins expand when cut,
that even plastic cannot contain
itself beyond its parameters,
that even we are unstable, stirring
in our casks of bone.
We nod and talk
as if any moment our bodies
will combust, burn down
to the black cinders of our tongues.
was a finalist in the Atlanta Review 2004
International Poetry Competition. She is the
recipient of the 2004 Howard Moss Poetry
Prize and won
third prize in the 2003 Writer's Digest Writing
Competition for creative nonfiction. Her writing has
appeared or is forthcoming in Antietam Review,
Cimarron Review, DIAGRAM, Phoebe, Sulphur River
Literary Review, and elsewhere. She has just been named poet-in-residence at Spillway Review.