It’s Too Late
Dr. Bronner’s Pure Peppermint Castile Soap
Will never not remind me of the ocean.
The last episode of the third season
Of The West Wing
Will never not make me cry-
The flowers that scatter at the end of the show-
No spoilers.
Every morning it is too early
To change
Into something more comfortable
And too cold to do laundry.
I’ve been out of underwear for weeks
And just started washing my hair.
I don’t run enough,
I tell anyone who’ll listen.
I pick at my scalp,
Go to bed early and dream of sex.
I wonder if I’ll ever have children,
I wonder if I’ll ever be warm-
It’s too late to know now.
The day’s gone,
Broken fully on the horizon’s arch,
Fully gone, before I wake up
Beneath the broken shade
In my mother’s bedroom.
No spoilers- I’m living reruns-
The one where the laundry seep overflows
the basement like a tide,
Detergent dreams, scattered flowers,
My hair smelling of peppermint and salt.
untitled // late October
the train station bathroom is full of mirrors,
i am myself again and again
and again i am in Boston.
my bangs grow thicker now
but the Public Garden is unchanged.
we sit in the sun and i draw a bright tree.
you read your book and don’t look at me
at all.
and how is it that i am all of 21
lying barefoot again in the grass?
the sun keeps sliding down glass
buildings and my whole self
is pressed against your back.
i cannot stop evening in this small city,
i do not know you that well.
and how is it that we are in bed
in your room of orchids and mirrors?
i look at you again and again
and again you are unmovable.
later, in the station
the train rushes on without me.
what changed
in your heart’s vast and whirring gardens?
Reflection
Lush