Shift

I crave, I crave stillness.

Who left the incense humming?

On a branch, a butterfly

ponders emancipation.

A firetruck screams by, crushing

a row of forget-me-nots.

Will I ever be me again? I dreamt my

blood was a river flowing from my mouth.

A butterfly looks inside me,

blue green wings flashing.

Us in Africa

The winter’s been thick,

white black bruises on the road.

Sometimes, I see your face

in the skating rink, smiling back at me.

I dreamt about you

smoking a cigarette in my lap.

Your cherry sap lips exhaling woozy

rings of smoke. Your hands shaking,

so lovely, laughing at my Donald Duck.

Peterhill Boulevard. Midnight espressos,

sketching your face on our wall, carrot peels

in the sink, your blue panties on the bathroom floor.

Post-it notes with naughty poems, stuck all over our

dresser drawers. Everything still, just as it was.

Your tulips have collapsed in your mother’s vase.

The scum in the empty fish tank stinks of neglect.

Physio called, I told them you wouldn’t be in…ever.

I met someone, she’s tall unlike you.

Dark and patient. She listens with her eyes,

and sometimes she sounds like you.

I think it’s the way she rolls her rrrrrr’s. But I

still inhale your sweat when she’s beneath me.

Annie, when did you plunge so far away

from yourself? And where was I? Where was I.

Your voice, deserting me.

If I could just squeeze you. Tell you not to go.

I’d take you away to Africa.

We’d ride elephants, drink mango juice.